Audrey’s hands shook as she opened the bag. Inside lay a small stack of envelopes tied with a pale ribbon, and on top, a folded hospital bracelet with a baby’s name written in marker. The color left her face. “Is this real?” she whispered. The biker nodded slowly, his eyes wet. “She is four years old, and she has been asking about you every night.” Collin stepped back, shaking his head. “Audrey, please, don’t.”

Guests murmured. I gripped my husband’s arm, my heart pounding, unable to understand. Then Audrey turned to Collin, her voice steady for the first time in days. “You told me she was gone,” she said. “You told me the adoption papers were final, and that I would never be allowed to see her.” She lifted the top envelope and pulled out a photograph of a little girl with her own dimples.