Evelyn laid the ledger paper down. “This is the record of the live birth you ordered me to shred,” she said, her voice shaking with twenty-nine years of buried anger.

A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom. Kenner’s own daughter stood up in shock.

Two local sheriff’s deputies, whom Clara had called before we entered, walked in and escorted him out the side door, his hands hidden under a coat.

That was three weeks ago. The legal battle is going to be long and muddy. Dr. Kenner is currently facing multiple felony charges, including kidnapping and document forgery. It doesn’t matter. His legacy is completely destroyed.

But the win didn’t magically fix the last twenty-nine years. I still go back and forth about whether I did the right thing, exposing all that old pain. The past doesn’t just vanish because you got justice.

Yesterday, though, the weather cleared up.

I was sitting on my front porch, drinking a cup of chamomile tea. A car pulled up to our small brick home.

Clara got out. Behind her, our son Leo stepped out of his car, laughing at something she had said. They have been spending almost every day together, trying to bridge the gap of all those lost years.

Clara walked up the wooden steps and sat down in the empty wicker chair next to mine. She reached over and took my hand.

“We have a lot of time to make up for,” she said, smiling as Leo waved from the driveway.

I looked at her, at my own green eyes staring back at me in the warm afternoon light. For the first time in twenty-nine years, my chest didn’t feel heavy.

“Yes, we do,” I said.

And for now, that is enough.