I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I slipped my fingers in his, giving him any comfort I could.

“It was about two weeks after my birthday that we went to Grace’s parents’ house for a combination Father’s Day and my belated birthday celebration. Her whole family and my parents were there. That was when she gave me this: the first glimpse of my son.” With shaking hands he handed me a framed photo.

The frame was wracked; the corners loose and bent. Evidence of the glass could still be seen in the powdery sand in the edges and the scratches on the picture in my hand. The ultrasound picture was in such bad shape it was difficult to read the printed words “I’m a boy!” I swallowed hard; he’d been so close to having a child.

“Not even that survived unscathed.”

My eyes looked up at him. “It happened that day,” I said, the answer coming to me, filling in the gaps. Nathan hated it when I mentioned his birthday.

He nodded in response. A sad smile formed and his arms raised, his hands making a circular form. “She had a perfectly round stomach. We’d made it to the third trimester after so long.”

Grief was what overtook Nathan. I recounted the stages in my mind: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Nathan was still stuck on step four—depression—along with his up and down visits with two: anger. It was obvious to me now he’d never moved on from there. Even after four long years, step five, acceptance, remained out of reach.

He sat there for a moment, and I could almost see the memories flickering behind his eyes. His jaw clenched a couple times. “It was just after dark when we decided to head home. It wasn’t too long a drive, about forty-five minutes, from their house to ours. There was a two-lane road that was almost a straight shot and a nice drive. We were about halfway home when this car came up behind us fast. We weren’t in any hurry, so I pulled over to let him pass. But when I pulled over, so did he.”

My chest tightened. I knew what was coming. The end. I knew the outcome.

“That was when it was obvious something was wrong. I told Grace to hold on and gunned it when I saw the driver’s side door start to open. We were up to seventy in no time…but so were they.”

He tipped his head back, trying to keep the tears at bay. I squeezed his hand in mine, my eyes beseeching him to continue.

“My mind was racing with what to do while I tried to stay ahead of them, but soon we were passing eighty. By then we’d reached the point where the road ran parallel to the interstate. They were separated by about forty feet of grass and a wire fence. It was then the fight of our lives started. They caught up, going faster to catch up in the oncoming traffic lane. I glanced over and the window was lowering. There were two men; the one in the passenger seat was aiming a gun at us. I reacted on instinct and steered the car into theirs. The motion caused them to lose some traction and they ran off the road, but were soon gaining on us again.”

He paused, his gaze on the box, his hand absently moving the objects around. “I remember telling her I loved her, but that’s where it gets foggy. An eye witness, who was silenced, said that was when the struggle began. Our car and theirs battled back and forth to stay on the road. With a powerful hit, they pushed us off the road and we went through the grassy area and the wire fence into oncoming traffic on the interstate. We were clipped by a semi, thrown into the median wall, bounced out, and hit a sedan before a delivery truck mashed us into a bridge support.”

My whole body was frozen in shock, my hand covering my mouth.

“All my fault,” he whispered as he stared blankly into the box. “It was all my fault.”

“Why?”

He blinked up at me. “Because I baited them, flaunted my success in their face, gathered enough information to begin bringing down their organization. Once I had one, the others would be easier. People would see even they couldn’t get away with everything.” He sighed. “In the end, they could. The eye witness’s testimony, the bullets they found… all evidence disappeared under mysterious circumstances. It was labeled an accident, and I ‘lost control’ of the vehicle.”

“Are they still…after you?”

His gaze met mine and he stared into my eyes, his hands bringing mine to his lips. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because of what I hold. The information I have on them. When I started poring over all the evidence for the case, it became a rabbit hole and I was able to link it to more and more cases.” He shook his head. “I wish I didn’t have it anymore so they would leave me alone.”

“Why don’t you get rid of it?”

“Because it wouldn’t make a difference, and because they died for it.”

“Are you sure they’re still after you?”

He let out a huff. “It’s been a while; I think they like seeing me miserable. In a way they think it’s better than being dead because I’ve suffered a worse fate than his daughter. But, yes, they still keep tabs.”

My fingers shuffled through the items in the box: pictures of them in college, their wedding day, their home. It was all he had left of her—a wooden box filled with paper and faded memories.

I stared at one of the photos, and something Jack had said to me long ago came back.

You remind me of my daughter.

“I’m not her, you know.” His brows scrunch together in confusion at my words. “Jack said…I reminded him of her.”

He thought about that for a moment, his head nodding a bit. “I’ll admit there are a few similarities I noticed in you in the beginning, and it was one of the many things that drew me to you. But then I saw you, really saw you, and it was then it hit me you weren’t her and the similarities were just that. No different than how you are.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, the hackles on my neck standing up.

“I’ve been watching you for months. You shy away from bald men,” he said, ticking off more subtleties I’d never noticed myself. “You cringe at men wearing combat boots. Why?”

“Adam always wore them, especially when he kicked me. My dad went bald at an early age.” My voice was mechanical as I answered, and my chest tightened, the walls reinforcing themselves, so I redirected. “It’s the same with you, though. If I cringe from them, you are drawn to me. These photos show our similarities. You can’t refute it.”