She had been, all along, the still center of the whole thing, waiting for the moment to move.

I looked at my mother across that chapel and felt years of misjudgment fall away, and something new and unspoken pass between us — the beginning, at twenty-nine, of finally knowing who she actually was.

The lead investigator took the key from her with a short nod.

“Mrs.

Vandermeer, we’ll need you to step outside and sign the surrender documents.”

“Gladly,” my mother said, and she did not look back at my father as the agents closed handcuffs around his wrists and walked him toward the doors.