The part about Grant.
“He thought I abandoned his brother,” I said.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him?”
I looked down at my hands.
“Because sometimes telling someone the truth doesn’t heal them.”
Noah was quiet.
“And sometimes,” I continued, “people aren’t ready to hear it.”
A knock came from the front door.
Both of us froze.
It was 6:03 a.m.
I knew who it was.
I stood.
“Stay here.”
I walked to the door.
Grant was standing outside.
This time, he wasn’t smiling.
He looked exhausted.
He held the photograph.
“You kept it,” he said.
“Yes.”
He stared at it.
“My brother carried that photograph everywhere.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Daniel told me.”
Grant swallowed.
For a moment, he looked less like the wealthy developer everyone feared and more like the younger brother who had lost someone.
“I hated you,” he whispered.
