And the responsibility belonged entirely to the men who had caused them.
Not Grant.
Not me.
Not our children.
That realization didn’t heal me.
But it finally gave my grief somewhere to go.
Toward justice.
CHAPTER 11 — THE CALL FROM MONTANA
A week after Miles’s arrest, Rebecca called at 6:12 in the morning.
I answered before the second ring.
“Emily.”
Something in her voice made me sit upright.
“We found Elijah Carter.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He’s alive.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Where?”
“A residential program outside Helena.
He’s safe.”
My throat closed.
“Is he Benjamin?”
“We’ve confirmed that the records used to enroll him were fraudulent.
His DNA sample is being compared with yours.”
I pressed my free hand against my chest.
“Does he remember me?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“He remembers pieces of his childhood.”
“What pieces?”
“A large house.
A dog named Biscuit.
A younger sister who always stole his blankets.”
