recognized my name.”
Margaret’s lips moved, but no defense came.
Jennifer began to cry quietly by the window.
Michael looked from our mother to Emma, then to me. “Mom?”
My mother straightened, grasping for dignity like a railing. “I was raising three children alone. Your father was gone. There were debts, lawyers, rumors. I did not have the luxury of chasing every tragedy.”
Emma flinched at the word every.
One tragedy among many.
A file to be put away.
A child to be forgotten because remembering was inconvenient.
I stepped forward, but Emma touched my arm.
Not to stop me for their sake.
For hers.
She faced Margaret with a steadiness that made the whole room quiet.
“I won’t ask you to become someone you are not,” Emma said. “I won’t ask you for warmth you don’t have. But I need the truth. Did Daniel’s father know I was Clara’s
