Chapter 6
“Because I don’t have access.”
“You’re family.”
“Not in the way you think.”
The French doors opened behind us.
Ethan stood there.
“Mom, Grandma wants to talk to you.”
Rebecca quickly hid the key in her hand.
“About what?”
“She said it was private.”
I looked at Rebecca.
For the first time, something like trust passed between us—not complete, not earned, but possible.
“Come with me,” I said to Ethan.
“Grandma said only you.”
“That’s all right. I’ll go alone.”
He frowned. “Are you safe?”
The question was so earnest that Rebecca’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
Alexander appeared behind him. “I’m coming.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
I kept my voice calm. “Margaret asked to speak with me. You don’t need to supervise every conversation.”
“I’m not supervising.”
“You arrived at my home with armed men.”
“That was for protection.”
“Then protect Ethan. Let me have one conversation without you.”
For a moment, I thought he would argue.
Instead, he looked at our son.
“Stay inside.”
Ethan nodded, though he clearly disliked the instruction.
I followed Margaret to the small sitting room beside the library. She closed the door behind us and remained standing, leaning on her cane.
A fire burned low in the grate.
“You kept the room the same,” I said.
“I kept many things the same.”
“Why?”
“Because changing them would have meant admitting you weren’t coming back.”
I looked at her.
She moved to a writing desk and opened a drawer.
From beneath a stack of old correspondence, she withdrew a bundle tied with blue ribbon.
My hands began to tremble before I touched it.
The top envelope was addressed in my handwriting.
Mrs. Margaret Russo.
The date was three months after I had been expelled.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single page.
I had written about Ethan’s first tooth, the lullaby he liked, the way he reached for the brass bell above his crib. I had asked her to tell Alexander that I wasn’t giving up.
The letter was marked with a red stamp.
RETURNED—NO SUCH RECIPIENT.
There were more beneath it.
Dozens.
Some had been opened. Some had not.
Each one bore a different false address.
“I received these six years ago,” Margaret said.
I looked up.
“Six years ago?”
“They were delivered in a box to the estate. No return address.”
“Why didn’t you send them to me?”
“I had no address.”
“You could have asked Alexander.”