It lasted only a second.
But that second told me everything.
Keaton sat down behind his desk.
When he spoke again, his voice was empty.
“The baby upstairs is my daughter.”
I stared at him.
“Of course she is. She’s our daughter.”
“No.”
He lowered his eyes.
“She is mine. She isn’t yours.”
I gripped the doorframe.
“Whose child is in my nursery?”
“Her name was Celia before we brought her home.”
“Who is her mother?”
Keaton rubbed both hands across his face.
“Blythe.”
I knew the name.
Blythe worked in his office. I had met her twice at company dinners. She was soft-spoken and always seemed embarrassed when I tried to include her in conversation.
“You had an affair.”
“Yes.”
“And she had your baby.”
“Yes.”
I could hardly hear my own voice.
“Where is Liora?”
Keaton looked away.
That was when my body understood before my mind did.
