was making it up,” he said. “I thought it was some kind of sick joke. So I moved in with him because I needed proof.”
My mouth dried instantly.
“Proof of what?” I asked.
Yet I sensed the answer.
Somewhere inside, I had expected this moment for eighteen years.
Part Four: The Paper
Luke reached into his hoodie pocket.
He produced a folded page. Repeated handling had softened its creases.
The page trembled in his fingers.
“Before I show you this,” he said, “I need you to promise me one
