Adrian finally spoke.
“That was mine.”
Claire looked at him.
“I gave Elena the moon half after we married.”
“Why?”
“She knew what Rachel meant to me.”
Claire looked down at the photograph.
Sofia had seen Elena wearing Adrian’s pendant.
Then, during the most terrifying moment of her life, she saw Claire.
Similar face.
Similar necklace.
A wounded woman holding her like her mother once had.
Claire understood.
Sofia whispered:
“I’m sorry I called you Mummy.”
Claire’s heart broke.
“Don’t be.”
Sofia looked up.
“I miss her.”
Claire held out her good hand.
Sofia took it.
“I know.”
“How?”
Claire looked at the child.
“My mother died too.”
Sofia climbed carefully closer.
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Were you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still?”
Claire thought.
“Yes.”
The child seemed comforted by the answer.
Not because sadness was good.
Because grief did not require pretending it ended.
Adrian looked away.
Claire noticed.
Later, after Sofia left with a security guard to get hot chocolate, Claire asked:
“How did Elena die?”
Adrian’s expression closed.
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“How long ago?”
“Eighteen months.”
Claire understood his fear now.
The gunfire.
The alley.
Sofia.
Another possible loss.
She stopped seeing only the terrifying Bellini name.
For the first time, she saw a widower.
That did not make her trust him.
But it made him human.
Claire stayed in the hospital for three days.
During that time, Adrian’s people uncovered more.
The death certificate for Rachel Bellini was fraudulent.
Not obviously.
It had survived two decades because it had been created with legitimate government forms and authentic signatures belonging to people who were now dead.
The supposed accident in Indiana had occurred.
A nineteen-year-old woman had died.
But dental records did not belong to Rachel.
Someone had used another dead woman to bury Rachel Bellini legally.
Claire sat upright when Adrian told her.
“Your father?”
“We don’t know.”
“You think he did it.”
Adrian’s silence answered.
Claire stared at him.
“Why would a father fake his daughter’s death?”
“To hide her.”
“Or protect her.”
“Or punish her.”
“Or protect himself.”
Claire looked toward the window.
“My mother spent her whole life moving.”
“Yes.”
“She never had credit cards until I was fourteen.”
“Interesting.”
“She hated having photographs taken.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“She taught me never to tell strangers where we lived.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“I thought she was paranoid.”
“Maybe she was.”
Claire turned.
Adrian continued.
“Being hunted doesn’t mean the fear feels less like paranoia.”
The sentence stayed with Claire.
Adrian placed another file on the hospital table.
“We found something about your father.”
Claire froze.
“My father?”
“Rachel rented an apartment under the name Rachel Bennett beginning twenty-four years ago.”
“Milwaukee.”
Claire whispered:
“That’s where I was born.”
“Yes.”
“There was another name on the lease for the first six months.”
Claire stared.