“Can you access it?”
“Not directly.”
“Then who?”
Dana was already dialing.
The answer came six hours later.
Megan Hayes was alive.
Alive.
Forty-two years old.
Living under a protected identity.
Location sealed.
Contact restrictions had remained in place because Gregory’s network had never been fully neutralized.
Taylor sat inside a federal office when Dana told him.
He stared at her.
Then:
“When can I see her?”
Dana smiled for the first time since they met.
“Tomorrow.”
Taylor did not sleep.
Neither did Sophie.
The reunion occurred inside an anonymous federal facility in Maryland.
No cameras.
No media.
No dramatic setting.
A beige room.
A couch.
A vending machine humming outside.
Taylor stood beside Sophie.
His hands trembled.
The door opened.
Megan entered.
She stopped.
Taylor forgot seven years.
Sophie did not.
She stared at the woman she knew from photographs.
Megan began crying.
“Sophie.”
Her daughter did not move.
That hurt.
But it was honest.
Megan crouched.
Not approaching further.
“You don’t have to hug me.”
Sophie’s face crumpled.
“Why didn’t you come home?”
Megan closed her eyes.
“I wanted to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Taylor almost laughed through tears.
His daughter.
Megan nodded.
“You’re right.”
Then she told her.
Not every detail.
Enough.
Bad people knew where they lived.
Megan believed staying away kept Sophie safe.
Government protection became complicated.
Years passed.
Every attempt to return risked exposing them.
“I thought about you every day.”
Sophie cried.
“Did you know my birthdays?”
“All of them.”
“What did I get when I turned six?”
Megan smiled through tears.
“Purple bicycle.”
Sophie froze.
“How?”
“I received reports.”
“School picture each year.”
“Some videos.”
Sophie looked toward Taylor.
He had never known.
Megan said:
“I watched you lose your first tooth.”
“You sang in the winter concert.”
“You hated soccer.”
“I still hate soccer.”
Megan laughed.
The sound broke Taylor completely.
He had forgotten it.
Or thought he had.
Sophie took one step.
Then another.
Megan stayed still.
Sophie finally threw herself into her mother’s arms.
Megan collapsed onto her knees holding her daughter.
Taylor turned away because witnessing that much pain and love at once felt private even though he belonged to it.
Then Megan looked at him.
Taylor had imagined this moment thousands of times.
In some versions he ran to her.
In others he screamed.
Sometimes kissed her.
Sometimes walked away.
Reality gave him none of those immediately.
He simply stood.
Megan whispered:
“Taylor.”
He nodded.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I’ve got right now.”
She nodded.
“That’s enough.”
They did not resume their marriage that afternoon.
That would have been another kind of lie.
Seven years had happened.
Taylor had raised their daughter alone.
Megan had lived under other names.
Loved him.
Feared him hating her.
Changed.