Daphne
Louis had carefully noted down everything I knew about the father of my baby, even the details that were vague and nonspecific. I described his appearance. I told him about the bullet scar in his back, and the fact that I suspected he might be ex-military. I mentioned that he drove a black Jeep, and I told him the first three letters of the plate number, but I couldn’t remember the whole thing.
He asked about things I hadn’t even thought to question. How did he speak? Did he have an accent? Was he right-handed or left-handed? What kind of food did he prefer? What kind of clothes did he wear? What kind of shoes? Did he wear a watch? What kind of phone did he carry? Did he have friends? Did he call or text anyone?
The more questions that I couldn’t answer, the more co
