“What do you want, Rowan?”
The question should have had an answer. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to undo it. I wanted to take every hour of the last year and break it open until the truth spilled out.
But those were childish wants.
“I know about the twins,” I said.
Her eyes lowered briefly to the sleeping baby. “Do you?”
“I saw the birth certificates.”
A small muscle moved in her jaw.
“And I know there was a third.”
The change in her was immediate.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
She simply went still, and in that stillness, something shut behind her eyes.
“Who told you that?” she asked.
“Gregory Voss had records.”
Her laugh was soft and empty. “Of course he did.”
“Megan—”
“No.” She stepped back, and the baby whimpered against her. She soothed him with a hand to his back, instinctive and tender. “You don’t get to say my name like that.”
