Anna closed her eyes.
“I told her to wait for someone.”
“She said no one came.”
“Daniel?”
The nurse hesitated.
“He is here.”
Anna’s monitor quickened.
“He got the letter?”
“Yes.”
She turned her face toward the window.
“I can’t see him.”
“You do not have to see anyone until you are ready.”
“He must hate me.”
A voice came from the doorway.
“I don’t.”
Daniel stood there holding the unopened paternity result in one hand.
Anna stared at him.
Years passed silently between them.
He looked older.
So did she.
But recognition did not hesitate.
“I wrote to you,” she whispered.
“I never received anything.”
“Your mother said—”
“I know.”
Daniel entered the room.
“She visited you?”
Anna nodded.
“She showed me messages.”
“They were not mine.”
“I realized too late.”
“You should have found me.”
“I tried.”
He stopped.
Anger had lived inside him for eight years.
