“Gene signed an affidavit that same morning,” Claire said.

“He swore under penalty of perjury that I’d packed my bags and moved to Chicago.”

I smoothed the corner of page forty-five flat with my palm.

The paper felt thin and dry under my fingers and smelled faintly of damp cardboard and old iron.

“He spent thirty-four years telling me you walked out on me,” I said.

Claire reached across the Formica table and laid her hand over mine.

“He knew you’d love him if he made himself the hero.”