Daniel’s hands were flat on the table, one near the truck and one near the page.

He acknowledged the letter and its history.

It was not a court admission of wrongdoing.

It was him recognizing that the account Claire was reading had come from him.

“You told me you never wanted that life,” she said.

“I wanted it then.”

There was room for changed feelings in that answer.

There was no longer room for pretending he had always been only a trapped visitor in a family somebody else chose.