The event hall was packed.
Grant stood at the front reading from his book.
“Losing a child,” he read, “leaves an empty chair at the table of your soul.”
Tara stiffened.
“You don’t have to,” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
She stepped into the aisle.
“Was that before or after you left me at Claire’s apartment?” Tara asked. “Funny how the woman you were having an affair with never made it into your book.”
The room fell silent.
“My name is Tara,” she said. “I’m the daughter he claims he lost in Cairo.”
Grant gripped the microphone.
“Tara, please. Not like this.”
“Why not? You told it in public for twenty years.”
She laid Claire’s confession, her birthday cards, and Grant’s letters on the table.
“You didn’t lose me,” she said. “You hid me.”
A reporter called out:
“Do you deny it, Grant?”
Grant looked around the room.
“I was trying to protect everyone.”
I stepped beside Tara.
“You protected your name. You destroyed ours.”
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