My daughter’s name is Hannah.”
The color drained from his face.
He tried to step around me, but I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I broke right there between the chairs and tables. I started sobbing loudly and messily in a way that turned heads.
I hadn’t cried like that since the second anniversary of her disappearance, when I realized no one else was still holding out hope.
“She vanished seven years ago,” I said, gasping for breath. “I just want to know if she’s alive.”
He stood frozen. His hand clenched around his coat strap.
Then finally, he looked around the coffee shop, now nearly empty, and exhaled.
“I didn’t steal the bracelet. She gave it to me,” he responded quietly, seemingly letting down his guard.
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