The biting November wind in Houston was a stark contrast to the eternal California sunshine I'd left behind. Four hours I'd been waiting, teeth chattering, outside the Denae building, hoping to catch someone from the family. My grand plan of a discreet ambush was turning into a frozen disaster. Just as I was about to give up, the elevator doors glided open, and two men emerged, chatting amiably, heading for their cars.

My body moved before my mind registered the decision. "Mr. Denae," I called out, the name feeling foreign on my tongue. Fear gnawed at me, a familiar companion, but I wouldn't show it. Not now, not ever. They turned, and the taller one asked, "May we help you, miss?" I stepped into the faint light, letting them get a good look at me, bracing myself for whatever reaction would come.

It was more than I'd expected. Their faces drained of color, eyes wide with a shock that mirrored my own. "Sweet Mary!" the first man gasped, utterly stunned. The other, cautiously, as if I might vanish, whispered, "Who are you?" I couldn't speak, the cold having stolen my voice. Instead, I simply extended the paper Serena had given me, the flimsy proof of my existence, and watched as their gazes fixed on the words, then back to me, as if I were a ghost. My heart pounded, the long, uncertain journey finally reaching its unpredictable precipice.