Daniel's voice softened. "She loved you before you were born. None of this changes that."
I shoved the photos back at him. "Then where were you?"
His face tightened. "Looking for you."
I wanted him to defend himself.
I laughed in his face. "For 18 years?"
"Not well enough."
I said, "Convenient."
He nodded. "I know."
I wanted him to defend himself. I wanted him to sound cruel or ridiculous so I could walk away and keep my promise to my mother.
Instead, he looked wrecked.
I could barely speak.
So I asked, "If you were searching so hard, why are you showing up now? At her memorial? Why now?"
He took a breath. "Because the hospital called me a month ago."
I went still. "What?"
"She had an old emergency contact on file. My number. It hadn't been updated in one of her records. When she collapsed at work, they called me."
I could barely speak. "You saw her?"
Neither of us spoke for a second.
"I tried to."
My hand clenched around the locket.
He went on. "She refused to let me into her room."
He looked at the floor. "A nurse came out and said she had one message."
I knew what it was before he said it.
"If my child ever meets him, tell them nothing."
Neither of us spoke for a second.
"They thought she was beneath us."
Then I said, "So why should I stand here and listen to you now?"
He looked up. "Because she wasn't protecting you from me."
"Really."
"She was protecting you from what came with me."
I stared at him.
He said, "My family had money. Power. The kind that reaches into places it shouldn't. They hated your mother. They thought she was beneath us. When she got pregnant, they tried to get rid of her. Quietly at first. Then, not so quietly."
"You expect me to believe you couldn't find her?"
I said, "My mother wasn't the kind of person you could scare off."
A sad smile touched his mouth. "I know. That's one of the reasons I loved her."
He kept going. "They sent lawyers. Investigators. Threats. They wanted her to sign papers before you were born. They wanted me to walk away. She disappeared instead."
"You expect me to believe you couldn't find her?"
"I found her once."
"I begged her to let me meet you."
That snapped my head up.
"What?"
His face looked older. "You were maybe six. She was living in another city. Different job. Different apartment. I found her after years of trying."
"And?"
"And I begged her to let me help. I begged her to let me meet you."
"I thought if I pushed harder, they'd destroy her."
I took a step closer. "Did she?"
"For about ten minutes, I thought she might."
He stopped. Swallowed.
Then he said, "My family found out. Within days, her apartment was broken into. Her employer got calls. Legal papers showed up threatening custody claims and financial action. She disappeared again before I could get back to her."
I said, "So what, you just let her go?"
His face changed again.
"I thought if I pushed harder, they'd destroy her."
"You mean they hadn't already?"
He closed his eyes. "You're right."
Then I remembered something he had said before.
I looked at him sharply. "You said I'd understand where my mother was really going all those years. And what caused her death."
His face changed again.
"And she also delayed treatment."
He said, very quietly, "Your mother wasn't just unlucky."
I felt sick.
