A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

better than that. You’re never supposed to let it get personal. There’s
a line. You don’t cross it. I did.
“And then I got the call we’d been waiting for for eleven years. I
was so certain she was Delilah, Josh. She checked off all the boxes.
She looked like her. She said she was her. Unlike the imposters
we’ve seen, this one was one hundred percent legit. I could feel it in
my bones. We’d done it. We’d found Delilah. I saw the relief and the
euphoria in your eyes. This meant everything to you.
“And then the results came back. Negative. Not a match. I was
incredulous. I was devastated. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. I
thought of how I’d tell you, the words I’d say. I practiced. But when
the time came, I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take her
away from you again. I’m so sorry, Josh. In some inane way, I
thought I was doing the right thing, for you, for her. I thought if no
one knew the truth, what harm would it do?”
Dad openly cries. I can’t bad-mouth him this time because I feel it,
too, a black hole inside me.
The one question remaining now is why you thought Dad was your
dad when he’s not.
We go into the room with you. It’s like taking that long final walk to
the execution chamber. I sit down in a chair next to you. Dad sits
across from me. He can’t bring himself to look at you. The lady cop
doesn’t come in with us. After her confession, she was led away by
some superior officer with her head hung low. There will be some
form of discipline for what she’s done. Not only did she lie, but she
tampered with police records. She’ll probably get canned. Maybe
have charges pressed against her, too. I don’t know.
Instead of her, it’s someone else asking the questions now, a man
cop. He doesn’t sit at all. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “What
made you believe this man is your father?”
There’s a tremor to your voice. “He’s not?”
Your face falls. You’re helpless, confused. Your eyes go to Dad,
who’s crying. That’s your answer.
“No. He’s not.”
You blink over and over again like there’s an eyelash in your eye.
You’re mute at first. You pull your legs into you. You rock on the
chair. It’s raw, primal. It’s hard to watch. Tears pool in your eyes and