“I found this in Elaine’s storage unit.”
Inside was the old photograph of the teenage twins.
On the back, Elaine had written two names in blue ink: Richard and Daniel, age sixteen.
Lily touched Daniel’s image.
“You looked terrified.”
“I was.
Richard had just told me I’d never see my family again if I spoke about what he’d done.”
Elaine lowered her eyes.
“And I allowed him to believe it.”
Daniel knelt beside her wheelchair.
“You told the truth when it still mattered.”
“I cannot give you back those years.”
“No,” he said.
“But you can let me visit next Sunday.”
Elaine smiled through her tears.
“I’d like that.”
That evening, Lily and I sat at my kitchen table—the same table where Richard had left the divorce papers.
She placed three mugs beside the coffee pot.
“Ruth’s coming?”
“She said she’d bring pie.”
