The interrogation room at the federal precinct was freezing. The harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights overhead cast ugly, stark shadows against the grey concrete walls. I sat at the metal table, my emerald-green silk dress looking entirely out of place in this dreary room.
Beside me, Natalie was asleep, her head resting on her arms, exhausted from the non-stop nightmare of the last twelve hours. The leather binder containing our biological family history lay in the center of the table under a plastic evidence tag.
My reflection in the two-way mirror looked back at me, pale, sharp and cold. I twisted my wedding ring around my finger. Damien Blackwood. The name kept repeating in my head like a terminal disease.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ethan's face draining of color on that stage.
