I couldn’t stop staring at the photograph.
Two young boys.
Lucien.
Adrian.
And the little girl between them.
She couldn’t have been older than four.
She was laughing.
Holding both of their hands as though she belonged there.
As though they were her family.
“Why have you never shown anyone this?”
I asked softly.
Lucien’s eyes never left the picture.
“Because I didn’t know who she was.”
He swallowed.
“My father told me never to ask about her again.”
⸻
Arthur Bellamy stepped closer.
His face slowly drained of color.
“I know her.”
Every head turned.
“You do?”
He nodded.
“I took that photograph.”
The room fell silent.
“It was taken at Blackridge.”
My pulse quickened.
“You remember her name?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
For a long moment…
Nothing.
Then—
“Lily.”
He whi
