He was my father’s biological son.
The court took custody from him.
Rosalyn named the baby Noah.
And she refused to let my father see him.
As for me, I changed my name back to the one my mother had given me.
Not because I wanted to erase my past.
Because I wanted to own it.
I also changed Paisley’s surname.
Not to my father’s.
To mine.
Months later, we returned to the house for the first time.
Paisley ran through the backyard.
She stopped beside the old pool.
Then she looked at me.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
She leaned close.
And whispered:
“Grandpa is still in the house.”
My smile disappeared.
“What?”
She pointed toward the kitchen.
I froze.
The house had been empty for months.
We had sold it after the trial.
Nobody was supposed to be there.
