He did not remember secrets.
He did not remember another family.
“How old were you here?” David asked.
“Maybe three months.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“Because I didn’t know what they proved.”
“They prove he knew you.”
“Yes.”
Maya’s voice broke.
“But they don’t prove what kind of relationship he had with my mother. They don’t prove he was my father. They don’t prove that she was telling me the truth.”
Daniel leaned closer to the screen.
“Did Marisol send any messages with the photos?”
Maya scrolled.
“She said Thomas promised to bring her and the baby to America. She said he sent money for several years. Then the money stopped after he died.”
“Did she mention Eleanor?”
“Not at first.”
Maya opened another message.
“Two months ago, she wrote, ‘The woman who took his name took everything else too.’”
David felt a familiar instinct rise inside him—the desire to reject anything that made his mother appear worse.
