not feel like the sharp grief I had known at nineteen. It was softer, older—the grief of finally meeting the truth and discovering it had been waiting patiently for me.
Daniel sat beside me.
He did not touch me until I leaned against his shoulder.
Then his hand rested lightly over mine.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For the years you spent believing you had no one.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“No. But I wish Claire had found a way to reach you sooner.”
“Maybe she tried.”
“She did.”
