“Keep reading.”
I flipped the page and saw Lisa’s blue Honda under emergency lights. Rain shone across the crushed hood. From the mirror hung the yellow raincoat keychain.
My knees weakened. “She was there.”
Adrian’s voice broke. “Yes.”
“My daughter was in your crash.”
“Our crash.”
I turned on him. “You knew.”
“Not when we met.”
“But before today.”
He did not answer.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“You let me marry you before telling me Lisa was tied to the night your parents died?”
“I thought you would refuse the help.”
“Then you knew I deserved the truth.”
His eyes filled. “Yes.”
I pulled out another page. “What’s this?”
“Transfer records.”
“You went to a private trauma center?”
“My family’s emergency plan moved me there.”
“And Lisa went to County General.”
He looked down. “Yes.”
Two survivors. Two separate worlds.
He had been carried into money. Lisa had been carried into a waiting room.
The final page held Vivian’s signature.
“No further contact with Lisa’s family is recommended. Further contact may create unnecessary liability. Matter closed.”
“Matter closed?” My voice cracked. “My daughter was a matter?”
“Vivian handled everything while I was unconscious.”
“She knew Lisa survived? She knew I existed? And she never called?”
“Yes.”
