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“You don’t know for certain.”

“Yes, I do.”

“We haven’t done a DNA test.”

“We will if you want one. But I don’t need it.”

“How can you believe me that easily?”

“Because Hayley disappeared eighteen years ago. Because your story explains things I have spent nearly half my life trying to understand.” His voice roughens. “And because the first time you looked at me, I saw her eyes.”

I look down quickly.

“I don’t know where she is.”

“We’ll find her.”

“She could be dead.”

“She isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.” His expression hardens with determination. “But I know Hayley. If she survived that house, she never stopped looking for you.”

Tears blur the table.

“She wanted you to have me.”

“I would have taken you.”

“I know.”

“I would have protected both of you.”

“I know.”

His arms close around me carefully, giving me enough time to pull away.

I don’t.

I haven’t been held since Mae died.

The first sob breaks out of me so violently that it hurts. Then another follows. I grip the front of Sean’s shirt and cry against the shoulder of a father I have known for less than an hour.

His hand cradles the back of my head.

“You’re safe,” he whispers.

I want to believe him.

For tonight, I let myself try.

When I finally stop crying, Sean shows me to a bedroom at the end of the hall. It has a big bed, heavy wooden furniture, and a private bathroom.

“You can lock the door,” he tells me.

“From the inside?”