name to you,” I told her softly. “For 10 years. Thank you for keeping her alive somewhere when I couldn’t.”
Marta closed her eyes. “She sounded like a wonderful girl.”
“She was.”
When I came home, Nolan was still sitting at the kitchen table, exactly where I had left him.
“Sit down,” I told him. “We need to say our daughter’s name. In this house. Where she lived.”
He sat. His hands were still shaking.
“Emily,” he finally whispered.
I walked into the hallway, lifted the face-down frame, and turned
