I felt sick. “So you used the accident…”
“I asked about it.”
Margaret’s face crumpled. “Yes.”
I looked toward the window. At the house across the street. At Claire’s car in its driveway.
“You watched her grow up?”
Margaret nodded. “Birthdays. Christmases. School plays. Emma thought we were just the old couple across the street who loved her like grandparents.”
“The scar,” I said, turning to Claire. “How did you not remember? You must’ve had a scar.”
“I didn’t even know she existed.”
“I did. I asked about it.” Margaret lowered her eyes. “We told her it was from surgery after the accident.”
Claire’s whole body was shaking.
“They gave her away, Sam,” my wife said. “My baby lived, and they gave her to the neighbors. Then they watched her grow up while I didn’t even know she existed.”
She crossed to the bassinet and lifted Lily against her chest like the baby was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Sam.”
“Tell me,” I said. “From you. Tell me.”
“I didn’t know his name then.”
“I was nineteen,” she whispered. “I didn’t know until yesterday. When I saw Lily’s eyes, something came back. A boy laughing. A highway. A hospital ceiling.”
“Daniel?” I asked.
She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “I didn’t know his name then. I just knew I’d loved him.”
“And Emma?”
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