Chapter 1: The birthday he forgot

At 10:47 P.M. on my twenty-ninth birthday, I collapsed on the marble staircase of my billionaire husband Luca Ferraro's mansion after walking a mile and a half through freezing rain.

He caught me before my head struck the floor.

Then, as he removed my soaked coat, a hospital wristband fell from its pocket.

It was from St.

Bridget's Children's Hospital, dated yesterday, under my maiden name.

Luca had missed our birthday dinner, but he was about to discover a secret that could change our lives forever.

My name is Nora Ferraro.

I'm twenty-nine, and eleven months ago, I married Luca Ferraro, one of the wealthiest and most influential billionaires in New York.

Luca was thirty-eight: tall, dark-haired, dangerously handsome, and powerful enough to make entire boardrooms fall silent when he entered.

He controlled shipping companies, luxury hotels, investment firms, and a multibillion-dollar business empire that stretched across the East Coast.

Powerful executives twice his age sought his approval.

His security teams followed his instructions without question.

One phone call from Luca could change the future of an entire company.

He was the kind of man who could buy almost anything.

But our marriage wasn't a love story.

It was an arrangement.

A carefully negotiated agreement between two families with complicated financial interests.

His attorneys had prepared everything.

Separate bedrooms.

Separate lives.

A beautiful mansion.

Security.

And twenty-five thousand dollars deposited into my account every month.

The contract was almost painfully specific.

I would attend public events when necessary.

I would maintain the appearance of a happy marriage.

I would never interfere with his business.

And Luca would make sure I never wanted for anything.

At least, anything money could provide.

When we signed the papers, he'd looked at me across the polished conference table.

"I won't pretend this is something it isn't, Nora."

I'd nodded.

"I understand."

He'd studied my face for a moment.

Then he'd said something I never forgot.

"But you'll be treated with respect.

You have my word."

At the time, I believed him.

And in his own way, perhaps Luca believed he'd kept that promise.

He gave me everything money could buy.

Except his time.

He rarely ate dinner with me.

Forgot the little things I told him.

And never asked why I spent almost none of the money he gave me.

There were mornings when we'd pass each other in the hallway like polite strangers staying at the same expensive hotel.

Sometimes, he'd stop long enough to ask whether I needed anything.

A new car, jewelry, a vacation—anything at all.

And I'd always give him the same answer.

"No, thank you, Luca.

I'm fine."

He never questioned it.

Never noticed that my smile had grown smaller.

Or that I'd stopped asking whether he'd be home for dinner.

Or that some nights, I sat in the darkened dining room long after the staff had cleared away the food.

I told myself I shouldn't expect more.

After all, he'd never promised to love me.

But somewhere along the way, I'd started loving him anyway.

I couldn't even remember exactly when it happened.

Maybe it was the morning he'd quietly covered me with a blanket after finding me asleep in the library.

Or the evening he'd remembered that I hated lilies and had the florist replace every arrangement in the house with white roses.

Or the night I'd heard him tell one of his executives, "My wife deserves your respect, whether I'm in the room or not."

Small things.

Almost meaningless to a man like Luca.

But to someone who had spent most of her life feeling invisible, they meant everything.

And that made everything harder.

Because every glimpse of kindness made me hope for something he'd never offered.

My twenty-ninth birthday was supposed to be different.

Not because I expected diamonds.

Or an extravagant party.

Or one of those luxury gifts that arrived in velvet boxes with handwritten cards from his assistant.

I only wanted dinner with my husband.

Just once.

Without business calls.

Without assistants interrupting.

Without feeling as though I was borrowing time that belonged to someone more important.

Three days earlier, Luca had noticed a blue dress hanging in my closet.

He'd been searching for a document his assistant mistakenly left in my sitting room.

I was standing beside the wardrobe when his gaze caught the dress.

"That color looks beautiful on you," he'd said.

It was such a small compliment.

Seven ordinary words.

He probably forgot them the moment he left the room.

But I remembered.

I'd stood there for another minute after he was gone, touching the soft blue fabric and smiling at something that shouldn't have mattered so much.

So on my birthday, I wore that exact dress.

I spent nearly an hour getting ready.

I curled my hair.

Put on the pearl earrings my mother had given me.

And applied the lipstick Luca had once said suited me.

Then I made a reservation at a quiet Italian restaurant.

A table for two.

Candles.

His favorite wine.

And a little chocolate cake I'd ordered because I knew he disliked anything too sweet.

I'd even asked the waiter not to put too many candles on it.

I didn't want a celebration.

I wanted a memory.

That morning, Luca had told me he'd try to finish work early.

"I have a meeting, but it shouldn't run late."

I'd looked up from my coffee.

"Really?"

He'd glanced at me.

"Why?"

For one terrible second, I wondered if he'd forgotten the date.

Then his phone rang.

He answered before I could say anything else.

I stood there holding my coffee while he walked out of the kitchen, already discussing a business acquisition worth more money than I could imagine.

I told myself it didn't mean anything.

He was busy.

He had responsibilities.

Surely he'd remember.

At six-thirty that evening, I arrived at the restaurant.

The hostess smiled when I gave her my name.

"Your husband hasn't arrived yet, Mrs.

Ferraro."

"That's all right," I said.

"He'll be here soon."

She led me to a candlelit table near the window.

I placed my handbag on the empty chair beside me.

Checked my phone.

And waited.

Seven o'clock.

Eight.

Nine.

Every time the restaurant door opened, I looked up.

Every time someone entered wearing a dark coat, my heart jumped.

And every time it wasn't Luca, I pretended to be interested in the menu.

The waiter came by several times.

"Would you like to order, ma'am?"

"Not yet.

I'm waiting for my husband."

At eight-fifteen, he brought me water.

At eight-forty, he quietly replaced the candle.

By nine, the ice in Luca's untouched glass had melted.

My phone stayed silent.

I sent one message.

I'm here.

Everything okay?

No reply.

I called once.

Straight to voicemail.

I didn't call again.

His driver finally called.

"Mrs.

Ferraro, would you like me to bring you home?"

I glanced at the empty chair across from me.

"Has Mr.

Ferraro said when he's coming?"

There was a pause.

"I'm afraid I haven't been able to reach him, ma'am.

I've called several times."

I swallowed.

"No, thank you.

I'll wait a little longer."

"Are you sure?

The weather is getting worse."

"I'm sure."

I ended the call before he could hear my voice break.

This was the third dinner Luca had promised to attend and missed during our eleven-month marriage.

But the first one I'd been foolish enough to believe would change something between us.

And Luca never came.

Eventually, the restaurant began closing.

The waiter approached with an expression that told me he already understood.

"Mrs.

Ferraro, would you like us to box the cake for you?"

I looked at the little chocolate cake sitting untouched on the table.

Happy Birthday, Nora.

The words were written in delicate white icing.

For some reason, that was what almost made me cry.

Not the empty chair.

Not the unanswered messages.

Just my name on a cake that nobody had been there to share.

"No," I whispered.

"Thank you."

I paid the bill.

Left a generous tip.

Picked up my coat.

And stepped into the rain.

I could have called one of Luca's drivers.

There were two available.

A luxury car was waiting somewhere in the city.

But I didn't want another employee witnessing my disappointment.

I didn't want to see pity in the rearview mirror.

Didn't want someone holding an umbrella over my head while pretending not to notice that my husband had forgotten me.

So I walked.

A mile and a half.

Through the cold.

The rain had turned vicious, blowing sideways between the buildings.

My shoes filled with water.

My dress clung to my legs.

And with every step, I felt weaker.

I'd been exhausted for weeks.

Dizzy in the mornings.

Sometimes so tired I could barely climb the stairs.

There were days when I had to sit on the edge of my bed until the room stopped spinning.

I'd lost my appetite.

My hands occasionally trembled for no reason.

And the dark circles beneath my eyes had become almost impossible to hide.

I'd blamed stress.

Sleepless nights.

The appointments I'd been keeping.

The things I couldn't bring myself to talk about.

But I'd told nobody.

Especially not Luca.

I didn't want him to think I was asking for attention.

I didn't want my husband to mistake my fear for another obligation he had to manage.

And there were things I still wasn't ready to explain.

Things that had begun long before that birthday dinner.

Things connected to the hospital bracelet hidden inside my coat.

Yesterday, a nurse had warned me to rest.

She'd looked directly into my eyes and said, "Nora, you can't keep pushing yourself like this."

I'd promised I wouldn't.

But promises were easy to make when you desperately wanted to believe you'd be okay.

Halfway home, I stopped beneath the awning of a closed bookstore.

My breathing had become shallow.

For a moment, I pressed one hand against the brick wall and waited for the dizziness to pass.

My phone lit up.

For one ridiculous second, my heart lifted.

Luca.

I thought it might finally be Luca.

But it was an automated birthday message from a clothing boutique.

I stared at the screen.

Then laughed.

A small, miserable sound swallowed by the rain.

"Happy birthday, Nora," I whispered to myself.

And kept walking.

When I finally reached the mansion, my hands were trembling.

The front windows glowed warmly against the dark.

Somewhere behind those walls was a house filled with expensive furniture, fresh flowers, and people employed to make my life comfortable.

But I had never felt lonelier.

I pushed through the front door.

The foyer was silent.

Water dripped from my coat onto the polished marble.

I heard voices somewhere down the corridor.

Luca was home.

I recognized his deep voice immediately.

He was speaking sharply into his phone, discussing a delayed shipment and a board meeting scheduled for the next morning.

I stood there for a moment.

Part of me wanted to walk toward him.

To ask whether he'd remembered.

To tell him I'd waited until the restaurant closed.

To ask why a man who could manage thousands of employees couldn't find two hours for his wife.

But I was too tired.

And I was afraid of what his answer might be.

So I turned toward the staircase.

Started climbing the marble steps.

One hand on the railing.

One slow step after another.

Then the room tilted.

A strange rushing sound filled my ears.

My fingers slipped from the railing.

My knees gave way.

And everything went dark.

The next thing I remember was Luca's voice.

"Nora!

Open your eyes!"

His arms were around me.

His face hovered above mine.

For the first time since our wedding, he looked genuinely frightened.

Not annoyed.

Not distracted.

Not impatient because I'd interrupted something important.

Frightened.

"Nora, look at me."

I tried to focus.

His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his perfectly tailored white shirt was already wet from my clothes.

I tried to smile.

"You're home."

His expression changed.

As though those two words had hurt him.

He stared at me for a moment, his jaw tightening.

"Of course I'm home.

What happened to you?"

I couldn't answer.

My head felt unbearably heavy.

He touched my cheek.

His fingers were warm.

Mine were freezing.

"Jesus, Nora.

You're ice cold."

"Just the rain," I whispered.

"What rain?"

I blinked at him.

"The walk."

His face hardened.

"Walk?"

He looked toward the open front door, then back at me.

"Why didn't you call someone?"

I struggled to focus.

"Everyone was busy."

For a second, he said nothing.

Then his gaze dropped to my soaked dress.

The blue dress.

His eyes lingered on it.

And I saw the exact moment he remembered.

The compliment.

The dinner.

My birthday.

His expression changed so abruptly that I almost wished he hadn't realized.

"Nora…"

"It's okay," I whispered.

But he shook his head.

"No.

It isn't."

He looked over his shoulder.

"Where the hell was her driver?"

One of the security guards appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

"Sir, Mrs.

Ferraro declined the car.

We tried to contact you."

Luca went still.

"She walked home?"

"Yes, sir."

"In this weather?"

The guard hesitated.

"Yes, sir."

Luca looked down at me.

"How far?"

I didn't want to answer.

But he was waiting.

"A mile and a half."

His face lost its color.

"A mile and a half?"

I tried to make a joke.

"At least I got some exercise."

He didn't smile.

Instead, he lifted me into his arms.

I barely remember him carrying me upstairs.

Past his bedroom.

Into mine.

Separate rooms.

Separate lives.

Just as we'd agreed.

Even in my half-conscious state, I noticed that.

He didn't take me into his room.

He carried me into the bedroom the marriage contract had assigned to me.

And somehow, that small detail hurt more than I expected.

He laid me on the bed.

Pulled a blanket over me.

Then ordered the guards to call a doctor.

"Get him here now!"

His voice was sharp enough to make someone outside the room start running.

I heard him give more instructions.

Bring dry towels.

Turn up the heat.

Cancel every call.

No interruptions.

Then he sat beside me.

I felt his hand close around mine.

"Nora, stay awake."

"I'm tired," I whispered.

"I know.

Just stay with me."

It was the longest he'd held my hand since our wedding ceremony.

And even then, while my body was trembling and my vision blurred, I found myself wishing the moment could last.

How pathetic was that?

I had fainted on the stairs.

And all I could think about was that my husband was finally holding my hand.

His thumb brushed over my knuckles.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"

I wanted to answer.

I wanted to tell him about the mornings when I could barely stand.

About the nights I'd spent staring at the ceiling.

About the hospital visits.

About everything I'd been carrying alone.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because the truth was complicated.

And I didn't know where to begin.

My eyes were closing again.

I felt Luca gently remove my wet coat.

He moved carefully, easing the heavy fabric away from my shoulders.

Then something crackled inside the pocket.

He stopped.

I heard paper moving.

And a faint plastic click against the bedside table.

Something had fallen out.

Something I had forgotten was still there.

My heart gave a weak, frightened thud.

The hospital wristband.

A narrow strip of white plastic.

Cut at one end.

Luca held it beneath the bedside lamp.

ST.

BRIDGET'S CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

Patient name:

NORA QUINN.

My maiden name.

The date was yesterday.

At first, he didn't understand.

Later, he told me he'd assumed it belonged to someone else.

Perhaps a relative.

Perhaps a friend I'd visited.

But then he'd noticed my date of birth.

The same birthday he'd forgotten that very evening.

And the identification number printed beneath it.

This was not a visitor's pass.

It was a patient identification band.

My identification band.

He stared at it.

Then his eyes moved toward the department printed beneath my name.

His hand went still.

The words had nothing to do with a routine checkup.

Nothing to do with the shopping trips or leisurely afternoons he'd always assumed filled my days.

And whatever Luca thought he knew about my life changed in that instant.

For months, Luca had believed I spent my days shopping, reading, and enjoying the comfortable life he'd provided.

He'd never asked where I went.

Never questioned why I looked so tired.

Never noticed how little of his money I used.

He didn't know about the hospital corridors I'd walked through alone.

The appointments I'd carefully scheduled around his business trips.

The phone calls I'd taken outside so the household staff wouldn't overhear.

The paperwork I kept locked in the bottom drawer of my desk.

Or the promises I'd made that had nothing to do with our marriage.

He had never asked.

And I'd never volunteered the answers.

Now he was standing beside my bed, holding proof that I'd been going somewhere he knew nothing about.

"Nora…"

His voice sounded different.

Almost broken.

I tried to open my eyes.

But couldn't.

"Why were you at a children's hospital?"

I heard the question.

I even tried to answer.

But my throat felt too tight, and the room seemed to be slipping farther away.

He leaned closer.

"Nora, please.

Talk to me."

Please.

I had never heard Luca Ferraro use that word with such desperation.

A man who negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking.

A man whose competitors feared sitting across from him.

A man who could silence an entire boardroom with one sentence.

And now he was begging his wife to open her eyes.

I wanted to tell him I was still there.

That I could hear him.

That I wasn't trying to frighten him.

But darkness kept pulling me under.

Then I heard footsteps.

The doctor had arrived.

Dr.

Samuel Mercer, the physician who had cared for Luca's family for years, entered my bedroom carrying his medical bag.

His voice was calm at first.

"What happened?"

"She collapsed on the stairs," Luca answered.

"She's freezing.

She's barely conscious."

"How long has she been like this?"

"I don't know."

The admission came out harshly.

"I don't know how long she's been sick.

I don't even know when she last ate."

Dr.

Mercer moved toward the bed.

I felt fingers checking my pulse.

A light shone briefly against my closed eyelids.

Someone wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders.

"Her pulse is fast," the doctor said.

"I want her blood pressure checked immediately."

Luca's voice came from somewhere close to my ear.

"Is she going to be all right?"

"We need to assess her properly.

She may need to be taken to the hospital."

"Then take her.

Get whatever she needs.

I'll arrange the best specialists in the country."

There was a pause.

Then Luca spoke again.

"Before you do anything else, look at this."

He handed the doctor the wristband.

"Tell me what this means."

Dr.

Mercer glanced at it.

And the atmosphere in the room changed.

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at the name.

The date.

The department.

Then toward me.

I knew Dr.

Mercer.

I'd spoken to him before.

More than once.

And weeks earlier, I'd asked him for something I never imagined I'd have to ask of a doctor.

Confidentiality.

Not because I wanted to hurt Luca.

Not because I didn't trust him.

But because there was a part of my life I still needed to understand before I could explain it to anyone else.

Especially my husband.

Luca noticed the doctor's hesitation.

"What is it?"

Dr.

Mercer didn't answer.

"Doctor."

Luca's voice grew colder.

"Why was my wife admitted to a children's hospital yesterday?"

Silence.

Then the doctor asked a question that made my stomach twist, even through the fog of exhaustion.

"Mr.

Ferraro, does your wife know you've found this?"

Luca frowned.

"Why would that matter?"

Dr.

Mercer looked at me again.

"Because medical information is confidential.

And your wife was very clear about what she wanted kept private."

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

I could hear the rain striking the windows.

The faint hum of the heating system.

And Luca's breathing beside my bed.

"What do you mean, she was very clear?"

His voice had dropped.

"Have you been treating my wife?"

Dr.

Mercer remained silent for a moment.

"I can tell you that she needs medical attention tonight.

I can't discuss her private medical history without her permission."

Luca's grip tightened around the wristband.

"Then tell me why she looks like she hasn't slept in a month."

The doctor checked my pulse again.

"How long has she been exhausted?"

Luca didn't answer.

"Has she been eating normally?"

Another silence.

"Any dizziness?

Fainting?

Unusual pain?"

Luca stared at him.

And the most painful part wasn't that he didn't know the answers.

It was that he had never thought to ask the questions.

Finally, he spoke.

"I don't know."

His voice was barely audible.

Dr.

Mercer looked up.

Luca swallowed.

"I live in the same house as her.

I've been married to her for eleven months."

He looked down at my face.

"And I don't know."

I felt something warm brush my forehead.

His hand.

He pushed a strand of damp hair away from my face, so carefully it almost hurt.

"Nora," he whispered.

"What have you been going through?"

I wanted to answer.

More than anything, I wanted to answer.

But the only thing I managed was a faint movement of my fingers against his.

He caught it immediately.

"Nora?"

His chair scraped across the floor.

"I'm here.

I'm right here."

Dr.

Mercer instructed someone to bring additional medical equipment.

Luca didn't move away from me.

For the first time since our wedding, his phone was ringing somewhere in the room, and he wasn't reaching for it.

A business deal could wait.

A meeting could wait.

Even the empire he'd spent his entire adult life building could wait.

He kept one hand wrapped around mine.

And the other closed around the hospital wristband.

I couldn't see his face anymore.

But I heard what he said next.

Not to the doctor.

Not to his staff.

To me.

"I'm sorry, Nora."

His voice cracked on my name.

"I should have been there tonight."

A pause.

"I should have been there long before tonight."

Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he added:

"Please don't make me find out I've lost you before I ever really knew you."

Those words followed me into the darkness.

And for the first time in eleven months, I wondered whether the man I'd fallen in love with might finally be beginning to understand what his silence had cost us.

But he still didn't know the truth.

He didn't know why I'd been at St.

Bridget's Children's Hospital.

He didn't know why my old name was on the wristband.

Or why the doctor had hesitated the moment he saw it.

And he certainly didn't know about the promise I'd made behind those hospital doors.

A promise that had already changed my life.

And might soon change his.

Because the one thing Luca hadn't thought to give his wife was the chance to tell him what she was going through.

He'd given me a mansion.

A fortune.

A life that looked perfect from the outside.

But he'd never given me the one thing I needed most.

A reason to believe he would stay and listen.

And now, with a hospital wristband trembling in his hand and his wife lying unconscious in front of him, Luca Ferraro was about to learn that some secrets aren't kept because someone wants to deceive you.

Sometimes, they're kept because the person carrying them has learned to suffer in silence.

And sometimes, by the time you finally decide to listen, the truth is already waiting on the other side of a hospital door.

A truth that no amount of money can change.

Luca stared at the doctor.

“Tell me what this means.”

Dr.

Samuel Mercer did not immediately answer.

He was in his late fifties, silver-haired, and one of the few people who had entered the Ferraro mansion without seeming impressed by it.

His attention remained on me.

“Nora should be awake for this conversation.”

Luca's fingers closed around the wristband.

“She collapsed.”

“I can see that.”

“She walked home through freezing rain.”

“I can see that too.”

“And yesterday she was at a children's hospital under a name I haven't heard anyone use since we married.”

Dr.

Mercer finally looked at him.

“Then perhaps you should ask yourself why.”

The room went very quiet.

Nobody spoke to Luca that way.

Not his employees.

Not his attorneys.

Certainly not men summoned to his home after eleven at night.

But Luca did not become angry.

That frightened me more.

I forced my eyes open.

“Doctor.”

Both men turned.

Luca was beside me instantly.

“Nora.”

“I’m fine.”

“You fainted.”

“I've done more dramatic things.”

“No.”

His voice cracked.

“You haven't.”

I tried to sit.

The room tilted again.

Luca caught my shoulder.

“Don't.”

“I hate when you order me around.”

“You've never told me that.”

“I've never had the energy.”

Dr.

Mercer concealed something dangerously close to a smile.

He checked my pulse.

Then my blood pressure.

His expression became serious.

“You're dehydrated, your blood pressure is low, and if you've been eating the way you admitted last week, I suspect you're anemic again.”

Luca's head turned sharply.

“Again?”

I closed my eyes.

There were few sounds more dangerous than a powerful man discovering he'd missed an entire history.

“How long has she been ill?”

“I'm not ill,” I said.

Dr.

Mercer looked at me.

I knew that look.

Doctors learned it somewhere in medical school.

The one that said stop making my job difficult.

“Nora isn't seriously ill,” he said carefully.

Luca's shoulders lowered slightly.

Then the doctor continued.

“But she has been undergoing medical evaluation.”

“For what?”

I opened my eyes.

“Don't.”

Luca looked at me.

“Nora.”

“Please.”

That stopped him.

Not because I'd raised my voice.

Because I almost never asked him for anything.

I saw the realization happen.

He moved backward.

One step.

Then another.

“All right.”

Dr.

Mercer adjusted the blanket.

“You need fluids, warmth, and rest tonight.

Tomorrow morning, I want blood work.”

“I had blood work yesterday.”

“I know.”

Luca's gaze dropped to the wristband again.

St.

Bridget's Children's Hospital.

FAMILY DONOR SERVICES.

Those were the words beneath my name.

Luca had been staring at them for several minutes.

He simply hadn't understood them.

Yet.

Dr.

Mercer packed his bag.

“You can call me if she becomes confused, has difficulty breathing, or faints again.”

Luca nodded.

Then asked, “Does she need a hospital?”

“No.

She needs sleep.”

The doctor looked at me meaningfully.

“And probably fewer secrets.”

I glared at him.

He left.

Luca remained standing beside the bed.

Neither of us spoke.

Rain struck the windows.

My blue dress was still damp beneath the blanket.

The candles at the restaurant would have burned out hours ago.

My little chocolate birthday cake was probably sitting in a refrigerator somewhere downtown.

Twenty-nine.

Happy birthday to me.

Luca looked at the wristband again.

“Family Donor Services.”

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Donor of what?”

“Not tonight.”

“Nora—”

“You promised.”

His jaw tightened.

“I didn't promise anything.”

“You stepped back.”

“That isn't the same thing.”

“For you, it nearly is.”

He looked toward the door.

For perhaps the first time since our wedding, Luca Ferraro appeared unsure whether he was allowed to remain in my room.

My room.

Not ours.

That suddenly seemed very important.

He picked up a glass of water.

Held it toward me.

I drank.

His hand shook slightly.

I'd never seen that before.

“Were you at St.

Bridget's yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“With a child?”

I hesitated.

“Yes.”

His face changed.

“Whose?”

I looked down.

“His name is Theo.”

Luca became utterly still.

“Theo.”

“Yes.”

“How old?”

“Seven.”

Something dark and frightened entered his eyes.

“Nora.”

“Don't.”

“Is he yours?”

For one stunned second, I forgot how exhausted I was.

Then I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Luca frowned.

“No.”

Relief moved across his face so powerfully that it almost offended me.

“He isn't my son.”

“Then who is he?”

I stared at my hands.

Theo.

Brown curls.

Missing front tooth.

An obsession with dinosaurs.

The child who had once informed me that velociraptors were probably misunderstood.

The reason I'd spent most Tuesdays and Thursdays across town for nearly five months.

“My brother.”