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White-blond hair tumbles over her shoulders, and down her back.

My daughter.

A sound tears out of me.

I climb from the SUV.

Sage doesn't move.

Neither do I.

Twenty feet.

Maybe less.

Eighteen years.

She looks so much like me that it hurts.

But I see Sean too.

Around her eyes.

In the shape of her mouth.

In the way she stands when she's afraid and refuses to show it.

I want to run to her.

I don't.

She doesn't know me.

I won't take this choice from her.

“Hi,” I whisper.

Sage's mouth trembles.

“Hi.”

That's it.

One word each.

I have imagined thousands.

None of them come.

“I don't know what to say,” she whispers.

“Neither do I.”

Her eyes fill.

“Sean said you were looking for me.”

“Yes.”