— I don’t know yet, Mark. Apparently we’re about to find out.
Ethan decided not to waste time.
— I’m Emily Carter’s husband. I believe you remember her.
The older woman’s face hardened at once.
— Oh, I remember. The girl who took our son away from us. Why are you here? What do you want?
Without a word, Ethan took the photo from his pocket and handed it to her.
— This is your grandson. He’s six months old. Take a good look. He looks just like your son. I’ve seen Daniel’s pictures. Same eyes. Same expression. Emily has no idea I’m here. You can hate my wife if you want, but cutting your own grandson out of your life is a terrible thing to do.
— We don’t need anything from you, and we’re doing just fine, — he said evenly. — I only came to tell you this: if there’s any conscience left in either of you, now would be the time to act on it. Goodbye. And for what it’s worth, Emily loved your son deeply. You were wrong about her.
He turned and left.
What a pair, he thought as he walked out. Emily was right. Bitter, miserable people.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Mark spoke in a low voice.
— Why did you react like that, Susan? Enough already. Look at the picture. That’s our Daniel all over again. Same eyes. Same brows.
— How much longer are we going to live like this? From one pill bottle to the next? — he said, his voice breaking. — Maybe it’s time to stop blaming that girl for everything. Maybe we should try to make this right, for the boy’s sake. I can’t keep living like this.
He turned his face away and cried quietly into his hands.
Susan knew, deep down, that her anger had always been grief in disguise. But pride is a hard thing to swallow. Still, the child in the photo left little room for doubt. No DNA test was needed.
A week later, the doorbell rang at Emily’s apartment. Ethan was on duty. When she opened the door, she instinctively stepped back. Daniel’s parents were standing there.
Oh no. How did they find me? What do they want now?
Mark spoke first, eyes lowered.
