He sat back down.
I photographed every page before leaving.
Then I made two calls.
The first was to an attorney.
The second was to Maren.
Her old number had been disconnected.
I drove back toward the country road instead.
Darkness was settling over Franklin by the time I reached the curve where I had watched her disappear.
I drove slowly, scanning porches, fields, and narrow driveways.
Twenty minutes later, I saw the weathered canvas bag sitting beside the steps of a small rental house.
Maren opened the door after my second knock.
She held one twin against her shoulder.
The other was asleep inside.
When she saw me, her face hardened.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I couldn’t argue.
“I know.”
“Does Tessa know you came?”
“No.”
Maren shifted the baby protectively.
“Then go home before she notices you’re missing.”
I placed the copied birth certificates and payment records on the porch railing.
“I know the twins are mine.”
Her expression barely changed.
That hurt more than surprise would have.
“You always knew,” I said.
“Of course I knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her laugh contained no humor.
“I did.”
I went still.
“What?”
“I called you from the hospital.
Your number blocked me.
I emailed you.
The messages bounced back.
I sent certified letters to the house.
They were returned.
Then your investigator came to the hospital and told me you wanted no contact and would fight me if I tried to involve you.”
I looked down at the papers.
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
“Maren—”
“Knowing it now doesn’t erase the year.”
I had no defense.
So I did not offer one.
I opened the folder to the handwritten note.
Her eyes dropped to it.
All the strength left her face at once.
She pulled the baby closer.
“Where did you get that?”
“The investigator’s original file.”
Her lips parted.
“He kept it?”
“What happened to the third baby?”
For several seconds she said nothing.
