“Her name might be Hannah,” Eli said. “That’s all my mum remembers. Hannah, born when Marshall was sixteen.”
Cloe sat at the kitchen table with her phone pressed to her ear, the morning light still soft, Mac moving quietly behind her making coffee in the careful, deliberate way he did everything when he was giving her space to think.
“Born when Marshall was sixteen,” Cloe repeated slowly. “So Marshall would have had a younger sibling. A sister.”
“My mum said he only mentioned it once,” Eli said. “They were arguing about something, she doesn’t even remember what anymore. And he just said it, almost like it slipped out. He said his parents had another baby the year his dad left, and they gave her up. Adopted out. He said her name was Hannah and then he never said anything else about it ev
