Cara appeared in the kitchen doorway again. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying anymore. She looked at Harry with an expression he couldn't quite name. Gratitude, maybe, or regret, or something more complicated than either. I owe you an apology, she said.
More than an apology. I don't even know if there's a word for what I owe you. Harry sat down the milk carton carefully. You were scared. You woke up in a strange place with no memory of how you got there.
That would terrify anyone. That's not an excuse. Carara shook her head. I know what could have happened if I had said the wrong thing to Rachel. If she had called the police before I had a chance to think clearly.
I know what that could have meant for you. But you didn't. But I almost did. And you knew I might. And you helped me anyway.
She took a breath. Why? Why would you take that risk? Harry thought about the question. He had been asking himself the same thing since the moment he'd turned his car toward home instead of leaving her at the restaurant.
Because I couldn't live with the alternative, he finally said, "Because my daughter is going to grow up in this world, and I want her to believe that when someone needs help, you help them. Even when it's hard, even when it's risky, even when the smart thing would be to walk away, he looked at Ella, who was quietly eating her cereal and pretending not to listen. I want her to believe that because I need to believe it, too. I've spent my whole life being careful, being invisible, making sure I never give anyone a reason to doubt me. And somewhere along the way, I forgot that being good isn't just about avoiding mistakes.
It's about choosing to do the right thing even when no one would blame you for doing nothing. Cara was quiet for a long moment. Then she walked over to the table and knelt down so she was at Ella's eye level. Ella, right? That's your name.