I remember his hand supporting the back of my head.

Then everything became blurry.

The next thing I clearly remember was warmth.

Bright fluorescent lights.

A hospital blanket.

A machine beeping beside me.

And someone holding my hand.

The gray-haired man was sitting in a chair beside the bed.

“You’re awake,” he said.

I blinked.

“Where am I?”

“York County Medical Center.”

I looked toward the window.

Snow covered the glass.

“What happened?”

“You got too cold.”

A nurse entered.

She checked the monitor.

“You gave us a scare, Claire.”

I turned toward her.

“How do you know my name?”

“You told the paramedics.”

I did not remember doing that.

The nurse adjusted the blanket.

“Your temperature was dangerously low when you arrived.”

“Can I go home?”

The man beside me became still.

The nurse hesitated.

“Not yet.”

She looked toward the doorway.

“Police need to speak with you first.”

My stomach tightened.

“I’m not in trouble.”

“No one said you were.”

Two officers entered several minutes later.

One was a woman named Officer Harper.

She sat beside the bed.

“Claire, can you tell me why you were outside tonight?”

I looked toward the gray-haired man.

He squeezed my hand.

It was such a small gesture.

But it helped.

“My dad told me to leave.”

Officer Harper’s expression changed.

“Your father put you outside?”

“He thinks I stole money.”

“How much?”

“Eight hundred dollars.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Were you given somewhere else to stay?”

“No.”

“A relative?”

“No.”

“A phone?”

“No.”

“Winter clothing?”

I looked down at my sneakers.

“No.”

Officer Harper glanced at her partner.

Neither officer said anything for several seconds.

Then she asked for my address.

I gave it to her.

She stepped into the hallway.

Four hours after I had left home, my parents finally received the call.

Mom arrived at the emergency room first.

Dad was only a few steps behind her.

“Claire!”

Mom rushed through the doors.

Then she suddenly stopped.

Her purse slipped from her hand.

The gray-haired man who had found me was sitting beside my bed.

His hand was still wrapped gently around mine.

Mom stared at him.

He slowly stood.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Dad looked from Mom to the stranger.

“What is it?”

Mom’s face had gone completely pale.

The man seemed just as stunned to see her.

His name was Daniel Mercer.

Mom whispered it like she was seeing a ghost.

“Daniel?”

He said nothing.

Dad frowned.

“You know him?”

Mom barely seemed to hear the question.

She kept staring at Daniel.

Then she whispered the words that changed everything.

“No.”

Her voice broke.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

The room went completely still.

I looked at the man who had found me beside the highway.

Then at my mother.

Then at my father.

Daniel finally looked at me before turning back to Mom.

“I think,” he said quietly, “we have a lot to talk about.”

And suddenly, the missing money was no longer the biggest secret in our family.

PART 2

Dad stepped forward first.

“Who the hell are you?”

Daniel’s eyes moved toward him.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“This is my family.”

Daniel looked at Mom.

Then at me.

His face tightened.

“That remains to be seen.”

Dad moved closer.

Officer Harper immediately stepped between them.

“Everyone needs to calm down.”

Dad pointed toward Daniel.

“I want him away from my daughter.”

The word daughter made Daniel look at me again.

Something about his expression frightened me.

Not because he looked angry.

Because he looked heartbroken.

Mom finally bent down and picked up her purse.

Her hands were shaking.

“Daniel Mercer died fifteen years ago.”

Daniel swallowed.

“No.”

Mom stared at him.

“Your truck went through the railing near Blackwater Bridge.”

“I know.”

“They searched the river.”

“I know.”

“They found blood.”

“I know.”

“They found your wallet.”

“I know.”

Dad interrupted.

“Laura, who is this man?”

My mother closed her eyes.

Daniel answered for her.

“I was her husband.”

Nobody moved.

I thought I had misunderstood him.

Dad certainly looked as though he had.

“Her what?”

“Her husband.”

Mom whispered his name again.

“Daniel.”

“You told me he was your fiancé,” Dad said.

Mom looked at him.

“He was my husband for four months.”

My heart started pounding.

I knew Mom had been married before Dad.

But she had always told us her first husband died before they could build a life together.

She never told me his name.

She never kept photographs of him.

Whenever I asked questions, she became quiet.

Dad hated the subject.

So eventually I stopped asking.

Daniel stared at Mom.

“I thought you knew I survived.”

“How could I?”

“I sent letters.”

Mom shook her head.

“No.”

“I called.”

“No.”

“I came back.”

Her face changed.

“What?”

“I came to your apartment six months after the accident.”

Mom looked confused.

“I wasn’t living there anymore.”

“I know.”

Daniel slowly turned toward Dad.

“Someone told me you had moved.”

Dad’s jaw tightened.

Mom noticed.

So did I.