He had apparently forgotten that.
Or he believed I had forgotten.
Rachel offered to keep the babies at home, but I wanted Daniel to see them.
Not because I hoped for a reunion.
I wanted to know whether any part of him would soften when he looked at his daughters.
I dressed Lily, Grace, and Sophie in matching yellow onesies. Then I placed them in their triple stroller and made a cardboard sign.
WELCOME HOME, DADDY.
Rachel stood a short distance away with Claire. Near them was an airport security officer who had been given a copy of the report concerning my stolen jewelry.
My phone was attached to the stroller handle, recording openly. A tiny red light glowed beside the camera.
That was the first detail Daniel failed to notice.
But it wasn’t the most important one.
I waited near the arrivals gate, my heart beating so hard that I felt it in my throat.
Passengers began pouring through the doors with suitcases, sun hats, and souvenirs.
Then I saw him.
Daniel looked healthier than he had in years.
He was deeply tanned, dressed in a crisp shirt, and smiling as though he had returned from the happiest chapter of his life.
One hand pulled his suitcase.
The other arm was wrapped around the dark-haired woman from his photographs.
She wore a white silk blouse, expensive sunglasses, and red nail polish. Her fingers rested possessively against Daniel’s chest.
“Daniel?” I whispered.
He stopped.
His smile faded for half a second, then returned.
The woman looked at the stroller and gave a quiet laugh.
“You didn’t tell me she’d bring all three.”
All three.
As if my daughters were inconvenient pieces of luggage.
Daniel did not walk toward them.
He didn’t ask their names.
