When she opened them again, she looked at Sophie.
“My name isn’t Maya.”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t look at her. Look at me.”
She did.
“My name is Elena Brooks.”
The name struck the garage harder than any shouted confession could have.
Sophie stared.
Jack took one step backward.
Elena lifted one hand.
He pointed at her.
“Don’t.”
She stopped immediately.
Sophie whispered, “Elena?”
Jack could not breathe properly.
Elena looked at their daughter.
“Yes.”
Sophie’s little forehead tightened.
She knew that name.
Jack had never erased Elena completely.
He refused to lie to Sophie.
There were pictures in a sealed album.
A name.
Simple answers when she became old enough to ask.
Your mother’s name was Elena.
She left when you were a baby.
I don’t know why.
None of that prepared him for this.
Sophie looked at Jack.
“Is she my mom?”
Elena began crying silently.
Jack felt rage rise so quickly it almost frightened him.
“Go inside.”
Sophie’s face crumpled.
“Dad—”
“Please.”
“I want—”
“Inside, Soph.”
She hesitated.
Then looked at Elena.
Elena did not reach for her.
Did not call her sweetheart.
Did not claim anything.
She stood perfectly still while tears moved down her face.
Sophie slowly walked toward the interior door.
Before disappearing inside, she asked one final question.
“Did you know where we lived?”
Elena looked as if someone had struck her.
“For nine days.”
Sophie swallowed.
Then went inside.
The door closed.
Jack turned.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Elena wiped her face.
“I came to tell you.”
“Nine days ago.”
“Yes.”
“You moved across the street nine days ago and came to tell me?”
“I was trying to find the right way.”
“The right way?”
“I had an attorney appointment Monday.”
“Today is Saturday.”
“I know.”
“You stood across from my house for nine days watching my daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
The words escaped her before she could stop them.
Jack moved closer.
“Don’t.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“You don’t get to use that yet.”
She nodded.
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“You sent one letter.”
“That wasn’t mine.”
Jack froze.
Elena looked at him.
“I didn’t write it.”
He laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“Of course.”
“Jack—”
“Of course that’s the story.”
“It’s true.”
“You vanished for seven years and moved next door under another name.”
“I know how it looks.”
“Do you?”
His voice rose.
“Do you have any idea what it looked like when Sophie had pneumonia at two and kept crying for somebody she couldn’t remember?”
Elena covered her mouth.
“Do you know what it looked like when she started preschool and every kid made Mother’s Day cards?”
“Please.”
“She asked if she could make hers for Mrs. Carter next door because mothers were supposed to be women and I was a man.”
Elena sobbed.
Jack did not stop.
He had stopped himself for seven years.
“What did it look like when she was five and asked whether you left because she cried too much as a baby?”
“No.”
Elena shook her head violently.
“No, no, no.”
“She thought you left because of her.”