The photograph lay between Clara and Arthur.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Clara stared at the familiar face in the picture. The man standing outside the country house was older than she remembered, his features thinner, and his hair noticeably grayer.
But there was no mistaking him.
It was Edward Delevon.
Her father.
"Where did you get this?" Clara finally asked.
Arthur's father sat across from them, his expression heavy with guilt.
"It was sent to me."
"By whom?"
"I don't know. The photograph arrived with a message. I recognized Edward immediately."
Clara picked up the photograph with trembling fingers.
"When was this taken?"
"October eighteenth."
Her eyes widened.
"October eighteenth?" she repeated. "That's less than a month ago."
"Yes."
For three years, Clara had believed her father was dead. She had mourned him, searched for answers, and endured the destruction of her family.
Now she was being told that he had been alive all this time.
