My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
He did not answer for a long moment. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the silver pocket watch, his thumb running over the smooth back of the case before he spoke.
“I saw the name on your registration card when you opened the glove box,” he said, his rumble very low. “Mia Vance. There are only two families named Vance in this county, and only one of them owned a silver sedan five years ago.”
I looked at him, my hand tightening on the gearshift.
“You knew,” I said.
“I knew the moment I saw your face,” he said. “You look like your father. You have his eyes.”
He turned the pocket watch over in his hand, the metal clicking softly in the quiet car.
“I wanted to see if they had forgotten,” he said. “Or if they lived in that big house pretending it never happened.”
“They didn’t forget,” I said. “They just paid to make it go away.”
“Forty-five thousand dollars,” Christopher said, his voice flat. “That was what the deputy told me the insurance company settled for. But I never saw a dime of it. My shop went to the bank three months later.”
