Her voice shook. I reached across the table and held her hand.
“Whatever it is, sweetheart, you can tell me.”
She took a sharp breath, tears forming in her eyes.
“I’m… I’m going back to my real dad.”
It felt as if my heart stopped.
She wasn’t angry. She looked frightened.
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
“You don’t understand,” she said through tears. “You know him. You’ve seen him. He found me, and he promised me something.”
My thoughts raced as I tried to understand.
“Grace,” I said carefully, “tell me his name.”
She wiped her face. “Mr. Dalton.”
My blood ran cold.
Dalton. My landlord. The man who owned several buildings in our neighborhood. The man who came to my shop once a month to collect rent, always wearing a smile that made me uneasy.
“That can’t be,” I said softly.
