“You knew she was alive?”
Daniel looked around the restaurant before lowering his voice.
“It’s not what you think.”
The boy interrupted him.
“Yes, it is.”
Then he handed me a second photograph.
This one was taken only three weeks earlier.
My sister was standing outside a small house.
Daniel was beside her.
And between them was the same little boy.
My hands started shaking.
“Tell me the truth. Now.”
Daniel finally whispered:
“Your sister didn’t disappear because she wanted to leave you.”
“Then why?”
The boy answered before he could.
“Because he paid her to disappear.”
I felt sick.
But Daniel suddenly stood up.
“I was protecting you.”
“From my own sister?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“No.”
Then he pointed toward the restaurant entrance.
“From the man who just walked in.”
I turned around—
and saw my father.
The same father we buried thirteen years ago.
