I pushed myself away from the table.

“I think I know where to look.”

I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.

“Walter.”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

One thought followed me during the entire drive home.

Carol hadn’t asked me to forgive my mother.

She’d asked me to forgive her.

So what exactly had Carol done?

—

By dawn, I was searching my mother’s attic.

At the bottom of an old box, I found a shoebox sealed with tape.

PRIVATE. DO NOT OPEN.

Inside were yellowing letters exchanged with a woman named Marjorie.

I read the first letter twice before I understood what it meant.

‘Dear Ruth, the young woman arrived Tuesday. She is nearly six months along. She still asks whether Walter knows about the child. I assured her, as you instructed, that contacting him would only make matters worse.’

My hands began to shake.