Three little girls in Central Park recognized the tattoo on my arm—when they said their last name, a seven-year secret I was never meant to uncover came to light

about that seriously.

“All three?”

Despite everything, I smiled.

“All three.”

The girls showed up in soft pastel sweaters, less formal than before. Maeve recognized me first.

“You’re the compass man.”

Savannah knelt beside them.

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t run from the moment.

“Girls, this is Adrian. He’s someone very important from my past. And he’s continue reading …