The woman who had always looked at me like I’d stolen something was Marcus’s younger sister, Delphine. She had never forgiven her brother for building a life that did not revolve around her, and she had never once, in nine years, called Lucas her nephew without a strange tightness in her voice. I lay awake beside Marcus turning it over, and by morning I was certain enough to act. I went to the school first thing, sat across from Mrs. Delaney with my folder of birth certificates and hospital records and ultrasound photos, and laid the truth on her desk in a stack she could not argue with. She was apologetic, professional, and, crucially, she told me something I needed. The school kept a log of the call.

The anonymous “family member” had not been as anonymous as she believed. The front office had caller ID, and the number had been recorded in the visitor and contact log the moment the call came in. Mrs. Delaney, now understanding she had been manipulated into interrogating a frightened child based on a malicious lie, agreed to share the logged number with me and to document that the accusation had been investigated and found completely false. I looked at the ten digits written on the notepad she slid across the desk, and my stomach dropped, because I recognized them instantly. I had that number saved in my own phone. It was Delphine’s.