Dad’s voice is a whisper. “I always knew they’d find out, and I’m sorry. You have to believe I did it for you. Everything I have ever done has been because I love you.”

Chapter Ten

Chapter

TEN

“Ally? Ally?” Sheriff Gleason kneels in front of me.

I’m on the floor.

I don’t know how I got here. But at some point in the past few minutes, I simply collapsed.

It’s as if my body can’t handle what’s happening.

I know my mind can’t.

I don’t understand what’s going on. What I’m being told.

“Are you okay?”

No words can escape my mouth. I can’t even think straight. Or breathe. All I can do is shake my head, try to get rid of the accusations.

He places his hand on my shoulder. “Of course you aren’t okay, honey. That was a silly question.”

The FBI agent with Sheriff Gleason approaches. “We really need to go down to the station and get everything on the record.”

“Please, Agent Kinblad,” he pleads in a soft voice, “I know these people.”

She snorts. “Apparently not well enough.”

I try to open my mouth to speak, but I am too numb.

I know I have to snap out of my catatonic state and discover the truth.

“Can you …,” I say, my voice near a whisper. “Can you begin again?” I haven’t been able to fully process what I’ve been told. I probably never will. It’s just too much. And impossible. It has to be. “Sheriff Gleason, who am I?”

Who am I? It’s such a ridiculous question. I always thought I knew who I was, the kind of person I’ve always been. That still has to count. I’m the same person, deep down, as I was ten minutes ago.

But can that really be true if what Allison Smith was built on is entirely false?

Sheriff Gleason rocks back to his heels, still next to me on the floor, while Agent Kinblad stands over Dad, her hands on the cuffs that are clipped to her belt. “We’re investigating a tip we received. We believe your real name may be Amanda Linsley. You were born in Tampa, Florida. The allegations are that your father, whose real name may be Daniel Linsley, took you from your mother when you were three.”

“He took me,” I say slowly, as if the words can sink in better that way. “What does that mean?”

“Kidnapped,” Agent Kinblad states bluntly.

“Kidnapped?” I echo. There’s no way. He wouldn’t … He’s my father. How can a father kidnap his own child?

I look over at Dad. Why isn’t he telling them it’s a lie, that they’re wrong? “Dad?”