My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
Christopher turned around, his eyes dropping to my canvas bag on the chair.
“You found it,” he said.
“I found the report,” I said. “The original one from five years ago. The one that says your car was parked.”
He did not look surprised. He simply nodded once, his face remaining gray and tired in the dim light of the bedside lamp.
“I knew she would keep it,” he said. “People like your mother never throw away the things that prove they won’t get caught.”
“We need to go,” I said, lifting the bag by its straps.
“Yes,” he said. “We should go before the light changes.”
We carried our bags down the stairs, the old wood creaking under our boots. My father was still standing in the hallway, his back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He looked smaller than he had three weeks ago when I had visited him for his birthday. The blue light from the television in the living room flickered across his face, casting long, thin shadows over his temples.
“Mia,” he said as I reached the bottom step.
