Rosalyn had spent years gathering proof.
Trevor had changed identities to survive.
And Paisley—
Paisley had simply seen something she couldn’t understand.
Months later, I stood beside Paisley’s bed.
She was sleeping.
Her small hand was wrapped around a stuffed giraffe my father had given her.
I gently touched her hair.
She opened her eyes.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Is Daddy inside Grandma?”
I smiled sadly.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Where is Daddy?”
I looked toward the doorway.
Trevor stood there.
He smiled.
“Right here.”
Paisley sat up.
She ran to him.
He picked her up.
For the first time, I watched them together without fear.
My sister.
My daughter.
My family.
Not the family my father had invented.
Not the family built on lies.
The family we chose.
I thought the story was over.
It wasn’t.
Six months later, Rosalyn gave birth.
A little boy.
The DNA test confirmed what we already knew.
