And I finally understood.
Trevor wasn’t Elena.
He was Emily.
My sister.
The sister everyone had told me was dead.
The sister who had spent years pretending to be a man because she had been hiding from the people who wanted her dead.
I looked at Rosalyn.
She was pregnant with Trevor’s child.
My sister’s child.
But there was one last question.
“Why did Paisley point at Rosalyn?”
Trevor finally answered.
“Because Paisley saw the ultrasound.”
“What did she see?”
Trevor looked at me.
“Your father.”
I frowned.
“Inside Rosalyn?”
“No.”
He pointed toward the clinic.
“On the ultrasound monitor.”
I remembered.
The birthday.
The little black bag.
Rosalyn’s stomach.
Paisley’s words.
“Daddy’s in there.”
She had seen a photograph inside Rosalyn’s bag.
An ultrasound image.
And on the image was the face of a man.
My father.
Why?
Because the baby Rosalyn carried wasn’t Trevor’s.
