“Several things went wrong. Different counties. Incomplete records. An incorrect date entered during one transfer. And for a long time Melissa herself gave information that was inconsistent because she genuinely didn’t know.”
Years passed.
Then, eighteen months ago, Melissa had remembered something clearly enough to write it down.
Grant Family Market.
She had remembered standing behind a bakery counter as a teenager while her father complained that she gave customers too many free samples.
Despite everything, I laughed.
“You did.”
Melissa looked up.
A tiny smile appeared.
“You always said I was destroying your profit margin.”
“You were.”
“I remembered that.”
A social worker searched the store.
Our website had a photograph from the market’s fiftieth anniversary.
There was my face.
There was Calvin.
And there was Ava.
The social worker contacted Calvin first because he remained listed publicly as Melissa’s husband.
“Eighteen months,” I repeated.
My relief suddenly collided with anger.
