"Nina."
Evan moved between us. "I'm sorry, Mom. He saw me."
She touched his arm. "It's all right."
"No, it isn't," he argued. "You said he was safer not knowing."
I stared at her. "Safer?"
Nina closed her eyes. When she opened them, tears shone in them. "Come inside."
The house smelled like tea, medicine, and lavender. Photos lined the hallway. Evan as a baby. Evan with missing front teeth. Evan holding a fishing rod. I was in none of them, yet my face appeared in every stage of his life.
Nina sat in an armchair by the window. Evan lingered near the kitchen until she gave him a gentle look.
"I'll be outside," he muttered.
When the door closed, silence filled the room.
"I looked for you," I said. "For months. For years."
"I know."
"How could you know?"
"Because I saw the flyers. I watched the interviews from motel televisions. I heard your voice asking people to help find me."
