Lucas lowered his gaze, smiling faintly.
“My mother would have said the same thing about herself.”
I looked at him.
“You miss her.”
“Every day.”
“When did she die?”
“Four years ago.”
The sadness in his voice made something inside me soften.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Douglas took a slow breath.
“Margaret knew I had loved you. She also knew I loved her. Those things weren’t enemies in her mind.”
I found myself thinking that I might have liked her.
Probably very much.
“So why didn’t she contact me after my mother brought her the suitcase?”
“Because of what your mother told her next.”
The photograph remained in my lap.
The baby.
I had almost forgotten the baby.
Almost.
I lifted the picture.
“This.”
Douglas nodded.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She said the letters weren’t the worst thing she’d done.”
The room suddenly felt too warm.
