“Don’t talk about Hannah like that.”
She laughed again, sharper this time. “Listen to you. One empty nursery and now she’s Saint Hannah.”
I hung up.
For a moment, I just stood there, phone in hand, pulse hammering.
Then I heard the front door open.
I spun around.
For half a second, a wild, impossible hope rose in my chest.
Hannah.
But it wasn’t her.
It was my brother, Daniel.
He stepped inside using the spare key I had forgotten he had. He was older than me by three years, broader in the shoulders, quieter in every way that mattered. His eyes moved over the stripped living room, the shopping bags, the papers on the counter.
Then he looked at me.
“You found it,” he said.
My mouth went dry.
“You knew?”
Daniel closed the door behind him.
“Yeah.”
I stared at him. “Where is she?”
He didn’t answer.
“Daniel. Where is my wife?”
“She asked me not to tell you.”
Rage flared in me, desperate and useless. “She’s my wife.”
“She’s your wife on paper.”
“That’s my daughter.”
His expression changed then. Not anger. Not pity. Something heavier.
“I know.”
“Then tell me where they are.”
“No.”
I stepped toward him. “You helped her?”
“I drove the moving truck.”
The words hit harder than any punch could have.
“You what?”
“She called me two weeks ago,” Daniel said. “She asked if I still meant what I said.”
“What are you talking about?”
He looked past me toward the empty nursery hallway.
“After Mom died, I told Hannah that if she ever needed help, real help, she could call me. No questions asked.”
I shook my head. “You had no right.”
He looked back at me. “Neither did you.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to tell him he didn’t understand marriage, pressure, temptation, the way life could split a man between who he was and who he wanted to be.
But the words died before I could form them.
Because Daniel had seen the papers.
He had seen the house.
And unlike me, he had chosen a side before the damage was complete.
“When did you know?” I asked.
“About Vanessa?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“Hannah suspected before Grace was born.”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
“She saw a message on your phone during her seventh month. You told Vanessa you missed her body.”
I felt my face burn.
