Every twenty minutes or so, grief would surge unexpectedly.
A memory would stab me.
Nathan teaching Grace to parallel park.
Nathan rubbing sunscreen onto my shoulders.
Nathan telling me on our first anniversary, “I’ve never felt more at home.”
Each memory became contaminated.
By three fifteen, the investigator called.
His name was Marcus Shaw.
He sounded half-awake but focused.
“I ran the aliases your son found.”
“And?”
“Nicholas Bennett is real.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Nathan Brooks did not exist before approximately twelve years ago.”
My skin prickled.
Marcus continued.
“I found a sealed civil case connected to Nicholas Bennett. I’m requesting records.”
“Can you get them tonight?”
“Some.”
“Do it.”
Rebecca interrupted.
“Marcus, search Ashford Private Capital.”
A pause.
“I know that name.”
“How?”
“Financial exploitation case. Mid-2010s.”
“Linda Pierce.”
Typing.
Then Marcus said something none of us expected.
“Oh.”
Rebecca leaned closer to the phone.
“What?”
“Linda Pierce isn’t Nathan’s mother.”
