My stomach dropped.
Similar height, similar brown eyes.
“Who is she?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Her name is Claire.”
“She’s my mother,” Evan added.
I looked at my husband again.
“Is he… is Evan… your son?”
“She’s my mother,”
“What?” Daniel seemed genuinely horrified. “No.”
His answer should have relieved me.
Instead, it left an even worse question: why had he insisted that Evan leave the second he walked through our door?
“Then explain the picture.”
“Is he… is Evan… your son?”
“Claire and I were never together.”
Evan nodded. “My mom never said they were. That’s not why I came here.”
I looked at him.
“Then why did you bring this?”
He glanced at Daniel.
“Then why did you bring this?”
“My mom died last year.”
The anger in the room softened for half a second.
He swallowed.
“I found some old pictures when my stepdad and I were going through her things. This one had Daniel’s name written on the back.”
