“The fourth daughter.”
Then the agents took him away.
Ava’s hand slipped into mine, small again somehow, though she was grown now.
June stood rigid, fighting tears.
Claire whispered, “There were only three of us.”
I opened my palm.
The silver key gleamed in the dawn.
And beneath Ava’s engraved name, so small we had almost missed it, was a date.
Not twenty-two years ago.
Not even close.
Three months ago.
