Fate could not be so cruel. God could not be this cruel. There had to be an explanation. Pain lanced through his chest, speared what was left. He’d listen to whatever she had to say for Mitch’s sake. Then she was gone. He couldn’t take this in-your-face reminder of everything he’d lost.
He followed them into the living room where the leather couches Julia had helped him pick out formed an L-shape. She stood in the center of the room, staring out at the skyline of San Francisco for several seconds, then turned and glanced around the room. He didn’t know what she was looking at—or for—but as her gaze swept over the photos of Julia, of Mitch, of Annie, Ryan’s patience reached a tipping point.
Julia tugged on his arm, whispered, “Daddy” in a pleading voice, but he ignored her.
“Why are you here, Ms…what was your name again?”
She visibly jolted, then turned to face him, and from the way her green eyes widened, he knew the shock was gone from his face and had been replaced with the ice he felt inside. The ice he’d built up over the years just so he could survive.
He watched her pull up some invisible shield, watched her eyes harden as if she were looking at a complete stranger. As if the connection they’d shared in the street had never happened. “Your wife died in a plane crash, about five years ago, is that right?”
When he didn’t answer, she added, “And she died here in San Francisco. Is that correct?”
“You already seem to know the answers to these questions. Why are you here?” he asked again.
“A year and a half ago, I was in an accident that landed me in a coma.” She lifted her hand, rubbed at a spot on the side of her head. “When I woke up in a Dallas hospital, I couldn’t remember the accident or anything about my life before it. The doctors said the trauma did something to my long-term memory. Retrograde amnesia, they called it. I’d been told I was in a car accident. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“Why not?” Mitch asked, watching her closely too.
She glanced his way. “My husband died in that plane crash here a few weeks ago. After, when I was going through some of his papers, I found evidence that suggests I was in a nursing home here in San Francisco during that coma, not in Texas like I’d been led to believe. And that the coma had lasted close to three years, not four days. I’m not sure why my husband lied, or what it all means, but I came here to San Francisco looking for answers. I went to see a lawyer today for advice. The woman recognized me, said I looked a lot like Anne Harrison.” She glanced back at Ryan. “Your wife.”
Ryan’s head spun, and his pulse beat so hard it was a roar in his ears. The story was ludicrous. Insane. No way it was real.
“Who was the lawyer?” Mitch asked.
“Simone Conners.”
Mitch’s eyes found Ryan’s. He knew what Mitch was thinking. But it couldn’t be her. Yeah, she looked a lot like her, but now that the shock was gone he could tell she wasn’t the same. Annie’s nose had been different, her cheeks not as sharp. Maturity could change a person’s face and shape, but it didn’t reshape bone structure. Besides which, Annie was gone. She’d died in that crash. They’d buried her. It didn’t matter that they’d never had a body. No one had survived that crash.
“Simone’s thinks you might be Annie,” Ryan said. “That’s why you’re here.”
“No. Not exactly. In fact, she doesn’t know I’m here. She told me not to come, but I…” She bit her lip, then reached into her purse. Her eyes cut to Julia, standing at Ryan’s side, and a protective urge bubbled through him, one that made him want to tug his daughter tight to his side. With trembling fingers, she held a photo out to him. “I found this in a lockbox in my house.”
Hesitantly, Ryan reached for the picture. Looked down. And felt his entire world tip right out from under him.
Julia’s eyes widened as she glanced at the photo in his hand. “That’s me.”
Ryan’s head darted up. When she turned to look at Julia and tucked her hair behind her ear, he caught sight of a faded strawberry birthmark just below her left ear where her jaw met her neck. An upside