“What about him?”
“He was her cousin.”
Ethan’s face emptied.
Evelyn lowered her gaze.
“And the emails were written by my attorney.”
There it was.
The final demolition of everything he had believed.
Five years of Hannah’s suffering.
Five years of his own bitterness.
A stolen child.
All built from lies.
Ethan left without another word.
At 1:16 a.m., he arrived at a modest house in Oak Park alongside a child-welfare caseworker who had been awakened by the hospital’s legal office.
A tired woman opened the door.
“Yes?”
“We’re looking for Daniel Mercer.”
The woman’s face softened.
“He’s asleep.”
Ethan nearly collapsed at the sound of the name.
Alive.
Sleeping.
Somewhere beyond that hallway, his son was alive.
The foster mother studied him.
Then she seemed to notice his face.
“Oh.”
“What?”
She smiled sadly.
“I understand now.”
Footsteps sounded behind her.
A small boy appeared in dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
