“We gave Clara money,” Helen said. She looked up, her eyes suddenly hard. There was that Vance logic. The belief that money fixes any tear. “She lived a good life in Chicago. She had a flat.

We took care of her. And you, Arthur. You went to a good home. We made sure the agency was a reputable one.”

“You let me marry him,” Sarah sobbed. “We have children, Mom! Our children are…”

“You didn’t know,” Helen said calmly. “Nobody knew. It was a coincidence. A terrible coincidence. But you have a good marriage, don’t you? What difference does it make now? Robert is gone. Clara is gone. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“It changes everything,” Sarah said.

She stood up. She didn’t hug her mother. She didn’t say goodbye. She walked out of the house. I followed her. As I reached the door, I turned back and grabbed the pocket watch from the mantel. I didn’t want to leave it there.

We drove home in silence.

That was three weeks ago.

We haven’t been back to Helen’s house. Sarah told her brother, and her brother refuses to speak to Helen now. The family is split down the middle. The Vance name doesn’t feel very heavy anymore.

Sarah and I are seeing a counselor. We sit on a gray couch in a quiet office and try to figure out how to talk to our kids about this when they are older. The counselor says we are still the same people we were before the test. But it doesn’t feel that way.

Last night, I went into our bedroom. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had Uncle Robert’s pocket watch in her hand.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were tired.

“What do we do with this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I took it from her hand and put it in the back of my sock drawer. It is still ticking in there. I can hear it sometimes when the house gets really quiet at night.

Mostly, we just get up and make the kids school lunches. We pay the water bill. We do the dishes. You find out your life is built on a lie, and then it is just a Tuesday again. You still have to buy groceries.