did.
I returned downstairs.
Rachel was sitting on the couch.
Calvin stood at the fireplace.
Neither spoke.
I placed Dorothy’s note on the table.
“If Rachel isn’t Melissa, then where is my daughter?”
Calvin answered quietly.
“I don’t know.”
My anger returned.
“You buried her.”
“No.”
“You handed me an urn.”
“Samuel arranged it.”
“You stood beside me.”
“Yes.”
“You watched Dorothy and me grieve.”
His voice cracked.
“I thought Rachel was Melissa.”
“For how long?”
“Almost five years.”
I stared at him.
“What changed?”
He looked toward Rachel.
“Her medical files.”
Rachel raised her head.
Calvin continued.
“Two years ago, I found archived records from the night of the accident. DNA work had been done on two female patients.”
My stomach dropped.
“Two?”
“Yes.”
“One was Rachel.”
“And the other?”
“Unknown.”
Rachel stared at him.
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“You let me believe
