Chapter 13
Claire did not run to me.
I deserved that.
She stood twenty feet away with one hand inside her coat pocket and the other hanging stiffly by her side.
I stopped walking.
“Claire.”
Her eyes filled.
But she did not move.
“Where are the girls?”
“Safe.”
“With who?”
“Emma.”
That changed her face.
Relief.
Then pain.
“She found them?”
“Yes.”
Claire closed her eyes.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she asked:
“Victor?”
“Finished.”
Her eyes opened.
“Marco?”
“Talking.”
She almost laughed.
That sounded like her.
I took one step.
She stepped back.
So I stopped.
“I thought you left me.”
Her face tightened.
“I know.”
“I stopped believing you were coming back.”
“I know.”
That hurt.
No accusation.
Just fact.
I looked down.
“I should have known.”
“No.”
I looked up.
Claire continued.
“You should have asked harder questions.”
Fair.
“I trusted Victor.”
“I know.”
“I trusted Marco.”
“I know.”
“And you thought I did too.”
She nodded.
There it was.
The failure between us.
Victor’s best weapon had been plausibility.
Claire believed I had approved the hidden crews because they looked like the kind of ruthless redundancy a Mafia boss might build.
I believed Claire had fled because Victor made fear look like abandonment.
We both filled silence with the worst explanation.
She looked toward Emma.
“You kept the pendant?”
Emma shook her head.
“Grace did.”
Claire smiled through tears.
Then finally she stepped forward.
Not toward me.
Toward the barn.
Toward the daughters she had not held in months.
That was right.
May you like
I followed behind.
For once, I did not need to be first.
