Full Story: For seven years after my daughter died, I sent her husband $40,000 every January to help raise my granddaughter. Then one afternoon, seven-year-old Ava grabbed my sleeve and whispered, “Grandpa, please stop sending Dad money. Follow him one day, and you’ll understand.”

to Margaret?”

“I don’t know.”

Melissa was already searching on her laptop.

Within minutes, she found a Margaret Ellis.

Age sixty-seven.

Portland.

One daughter.

Born 1982.

The dates fit.

My daughter.

Another daughter.

Melissa looked at me.

“Her name is Claire.”

A photograph appeared.

Claire Ellis Morgan.

The surname hit Leah first.

She gasped.

“Morgan.”

Melissa stared at her.

Leah’s real name.

Leah Morgan.

We all turned.

Leah’s face went white.

“My mother’s name was Claire.”

Nobody breathed.

“No,” I whispered.

Leah looked at me.

“Her name is Claire Ellis Morgan.”

My knees nearly failed.

Calvin, who had arrived moments earlier, caught my arm.

Leah stared at me.

“You’re my grandfather.”

I looked at Melissa.

Rachel.

Leah.

Ava upstairs.

In one day, the family I believed had been reduced to one granddaughter had expanded around me like a universe.

Arthur Bell spoke through the computer.

“If Leah is Claire Morgan’s