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Not romance.
Not the past.
Parenthood.
Shared fear for a child neither of us was there to protect.
“She had people help her,” Sean continues. “A diner owner named Sally. A truck driver. Others.”
“And one of them betrayed her.”
“Yes.”
“The man with the silver pickup.”
“Yes.”
I stare through the windshield.
“She must not trust anyone.”
“She trusted me.”
I look at him.
“She walked onto my property yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“She found me yesterday.”
I stare at him.
“You've only known her one day?”
“Less.”
“Oh my God.”
A strange sound escapes me.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
“You met your daughter yesterday.”
“On our birthday.”
I blink.
“Our?”
“Sage turned eighteen yesterday.”
Of course.
I knew the date.
