"But you knew."
"Yes."
That single word hurt more than I expected. "You knew, and you didn't tell me."
"I knew there was a connection. I didn't know it would become the center of your life until after you married Derek."
"You still didn't tell me. Why?"
"Because you asked me to let you live without the family name defining every relationship you had. You asked me not to interfere."
"This isn't interference," I said. "This is my mother."
His composure finally cracked. "I know."
He looked out at the river before he spoke again, voice lower now. "After the accident, you were seventeen. You stopped sleeping. Barely ate unless someone reminded you. Everyone wanted trusts reorganized and papers signed. Your mother left instructions for you. I chose to wait."
My throat tightened. "What instructions?"
"A letter."
The word moved through me like a door blowing open somewhere in the house. "A letter from my mother?"
