Because in the hours after his whole world inverted, when he needed to place his daughter somewhere absolutely safe while he did the hard work of gathering proof, there had been no question in his mind about where to go.

Not to a hotel.

Not to a friend.

To Hannah’s mother.

To the grandmother who had loved Lily since before she was born, who took her to leave flowers every year, who had lost her own daughter and poured what remained of that love into her granddaughter without reservation or agenda.

Sarah had spent a year performing family, mimicking devotion, wearing the costume of a loving stepmother so convincingly that Marcus had been fooled.

And in the crisis, when performance fell away and only the real thing would do, it was instantly, obviously clear who the real family was.