Two days later I was hauling the last of his boxed belongings down to the complex donation bin. I wanted no trace of him left. As I crossed the courtyard toward the South Tower’s loading dock, something behind a row of hedges stopped me dead.

It was Khloe. And she wasn’t with Michael.

She was standing close to Robert, her elderly father-in-law — but not the way you stand near family. Her arm was hooked through his. Her head rested on his shoulder while she giggled at something he murmured.

Robert raised a weathered hand and laid it flat against her pregnant belly, his eyes soft with a tenderness that turned my stomach.

I stepped back behind a concrete pillar, my breath caught.

The pieces snapped together. Michael was shooting blanks. Khloe had refused DNA testing, calling it insulting. Robert’s constant presence.