The baby whose identity had been stolen.
“Are they alive?”
“Eleanor is. Thomas p.a.s.s.e.d away six years ago. She is eighty-three.”
“What does she want?”
“To meet you.”
“Why?”
“Because you returned her child’s name.”
The real Daniel had been gone for more than 30 years.
But his identity had remained trapped inside fraud, court files, and another man’s crimes.
Now his record could finally be corrected.
Eleanor lived in a small white house near the fictional Chesapeake village of Silvermarsh.
Her mantel displayed family photographs.
At the center was a baby with solemn eyes and round cheeks.
“He was with us for nine months and four days,” Eleanor said.
She touched the frame.
“People told me that because the time was short, the grief would become small.”
Her eyes filled.
“It never did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
She looked at my short hair.
