There’s a storage unit,” Sophia said. “Here in San Diego. He said everything’s there.”

“Everything?”

“What he took. Why he really left. All of it.”

I picked up the key. It was cold in my palm. Lighter than I expected. For over two decades, I hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. Now he was dead, and this girl—this girl with my husband’s eyes—was sitting in my kitchen, holding answers I’d stopped wanting years ago.

“He wanted you to know the truth,” Sophia said. “Said you deserved that much.”