She reached up and touched the crescent scar under her chin, her eyes on the carved letters of Frank’s name.

“He took care of you,” Claire said, her soft voice barely rising above the autumn wind.

“He did,” I said.

“He made my breakfast every morning before school.

He taught me to drive this Buick.

And he built all of it on top of a stolen life.”

I twisted my silver wedding band around my thumb, feeling the cool metal against my skin.

“I loved the man who raised me,” I said, “but I won’t keep his lie alive one more day.”