“She was fifteen.”
Corinne’s eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
“How do two adults allow a fifteen-year-old to disappear into their house for a year without contacting anyone?”
Dean’s jaw tightened.
“We should have. I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Neither said anything.
And suddenly, I understood.
They had wanted to believe her.
Mallory was the child they had surrendered fifteen years earlier.
She had arrived at their door saying she needed them.
As unbelievable as her story sounded, questioning it meant risking losing her again.
Fear had made me hide the truth from Mallory.
And hope had made them ignore the truth standing right before them.
Then I heard footsteps on the stairs.
I looked up.
Mallory stood halfway down.
For one moment, neither of us moved.
Her hair was longer.
Her face was thinner.
She looked older.
But she was my daughter.
“Mom?”
One word.
