“He will never let you have her,” she whispered.

“I know,” I breathed.

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it once.

As I did, I felt a loose strand of her long, dark hair catch on my ring.

I carefully pulled it free, holding it between my fingers.

“Go to the diner,” I whispered. “Wait for my call.”

She nodded, her eyes rimmed with red, and walked out into the damp afternoon.

I closed the door and leaned against it.

I carefully placed the strand of Rose’s hair into a small plastic bag in my pocket.

That was one.

I walked back into the kitchen.

Richard was standing by the island, holding his phone again.

“Claire?” he said, his voice instantly shifting to a warm, fatherly tone.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart. The reception cut out.”

I watched him speak, disgust rising in my throat.

He laughed at something she said.

He looked completely normal, like the loving father he had always pretended to be.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said into the phone.

He hung up and looked at me.