The words hurt more than I expected.
“Because my daughter resembles a woman in an old photograph?”
“Because until I understand why, I don’t know if being around you is safe.”
I stared at him.
“Safe?”
“Not from me.”
“Then from whom?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Stephen, listen to yourself.”
“I have.”
He stepped backward.
“I’m going to find the photograph.”
“You said it was stolen.”
“The copy was.”
“Then how?”
He looked toward my house.
“There might be another.”
“Where?”
His answer came quietly.
“Harlow.”
Then he walked to his car.
I stood on the porch until his taillights disappeared.
Inside, Lily had already begun tearing the wrapping paper.
I closed the door and leaned against it.
“Mommy, look!”
I turned.
Inside the package was a beautifully illustrated children’s astronomy book and a little wooden projector that cast stars across a bedroom ceiling.
It was exactly the sort of thoughtful present Stephen would choose.
