Max lowered himself carefully into the back seat, Ruby still against his chest, her breathing slow and even, her locket catching the morning light as he settled her against him.
He looked down at her face.
At his wife's face.
The face he had looked for in every room and on every street and in every dark moment of three years that had sometimes felt like they would never end.
He pressed his lips to her forehead and held them there.
He had known. On the days when he had felt it slipping, the certainty, the hope, the belief that she was out there and could be found, he had told himself he knew. He had made himself believe it when belief was the hardest thing available.
And here she was.
Here she was.
