He had dressed the boy in my daughter’s raincoat.

He had checked him in under our family’s name and our insurance as our daughter.

He had come to me with a settlement and a waiver so that I would sign my name to the lie that it was Brucie who had died — so that the real death, the death of Camellia’s son, would be quietly erased, and his affair with Camellia would stay hidden, and Camellia would never face what she had done.

He had tried to trade one child’s death for another child’s name.

He had tried to make my grief the cover for his secret.

“Where is my daughter, Luke?” I said, and my voice came out of me low and terrible and did not sound like my own.