Dark eyes.
A stubborn cowlick.
Cogí la parte de atrás de una silla.
“Oh, Dios mío”.
Denise moved closer.
– ¿Estás bien?
“He looks like Jack.”
She glanced toward Ethan.
“I suppose a little.”
A little?
To me, he looked so much like Jack that every doubt disappeared.
This was Jack’s son.
I was certain.
“Ethan,” Denise said gently, “this is Claire.”
His face brightened.
– Lo sé.
I stared at him.
“You know me?”
“Jack showed me your picture.”
“He did?”
“And Lucy.”
“What did he tell you about Lucy?”
“Le gustan los dinosaurios”.
A pesar de mí mismo, sonreí.
“She does.”
“And you make pancakes on Sundays.”
My smile disappeared.
Jack had talked about us here.
He had brought our family into this secret life.
“How often did he come?”
Denise hesitated.
“Quite a few times.”
“Alone?”
“Not always.”
“¿Quién vino con él?”
“Una mujer mayor. La Sra. Bennett.
