Chapter 3
I sealed the cuff link in a plastic bag and locked it in my bedroom safe.
When I went downstairs, Sophie was still by the front door, refusing to leave for school.
“I want to see him again.” She hugged her backpack to her chest, her eyes still swollen.
“You don’t know who he is.” I stood in front of the door.
“Then prove he isn’t Dad.” She lifted her chin. “Why do you keep trying to stop me?”
I tightened my grip on the doorknob.
I had no answer.
My phone rang.
The court’s hearing office was calling. The man had volunteered for fingerprint and DNA testing. They needed information about my husband’s medical history.
“He had his appendix removed twelve years ago.” I sat up straighter and gave them the hospital’s name. “You can contact them.”
When I hung up, I finally let myself breathe.
A face could be altered. Someone could dig up details about our marriage.
But he couldn’t steal my husband’s DNA.
That afternoon, I took Sophie to the testing center.
The man was sitting outside the collection room. He stood as soon as he saw us.
“Sophie.” He smiled and held out his hand.
“Dad.” She let go of me and hurried toward him.
I caught her arm.
“We don’t have the results yet.”
My voice carried. People in the hallway turned to look.
Sophie’s face flushed.
“Don’t be upset with her.” He lowered his hand and looked at me. “Your mom needs time, too.”
I said nothing. I watched him enter the collection room.
Through the glass, I saw a technician check his identification, swab the inside of his cheek, and take his fingerprints.
He never hesitated.
When he came out, he stopped in front of me.
“You look disappointed.” He kept his voice low, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Let’s wait for the results.” I held his gaze.
“A report won’t change who I am.” He smoothed his cuff, completely at ease.
“Then why didn’t you come home for seven years?” Sophie asked suddenly.
His hand went still.
“When I woke up after the yacht exploded, I couldn’t remember who I was.” He crouched in front of her, his voice softening. “By the time I remembered, years had passed.”
“What about after that?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Why didn’t you come find us right away?”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he looked past her.
At me.
“Someone told me you didn’t want me back.”
Sophie turned. Slowly, she let go of my hand.
“Who told you that?” I demanded.
He lowered his eyes and said nothing.
The way my daughter looked at me changed.
I wanted to deny it, but the words lodged in my throat.
Because seven years ago, someone really had wanted him gone forever.
Me.
For the next two days, I barely put down my phone.
The hospital confirmed that it had located a preserved tissue sample from his surgery and sent it for testing.
I read the notification over and over.
Waiting for proof that the man was lying.
On the third day, the report arrived.
Sophie tore open the envelope before I could. She read a few lines, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Mom. He was telling the truth.”
She handed me the report, her hands shaking, a smile spreading across her face.
I snatched it from her.
His fingerprints matched my husband’s records.
His DNA matched the tissue sample from the hospital.
The probability of an identity match was greater than 99.99 percent.
I checked the name again.
Ethan Bennett.
The pages slipped from my fingers.
Outside, a car pulled up.
“Dad’s here!” Sophie threw open the curtains and waved.
The man stood beside his car, looking up at us.
He didn’t ring the doorbell.
He took out his phone.
A moment later, my screen lit up.
A photograph.
Someone had dug into the forest floor, exposing a decomposing body.
Our wedding ring was still on its left hand.
I covered the screen before Sophie could see.
Beneath the photograph was a single line.
Are you still sure I’m the one you buried?