20
There was something about seeing him again. Her sons really had grown into his image, and she had to remind herself that he wasn’t who she believed him to be.
He was older, but he still looked the same.
“Where have you been?” Iris said. There were so many things she could have asked, like how could he, and why, and who was he, really, considering Raymond O’Connell didn’t exist? Those were the last words he’d ever said to her—that he didn’t exist and that he was sorry.
Raymond just nodded, taking her in, before sitting down on one of the patio chairs out back. “You look good,” he said.
So he wasn’t really answering, just like in those last few months when he’d stopped going to work and strange men had started dropping by, and suddenly, the man she’d built a life with, whom she loved
