“You took care of Teagan?”
“She was scared. She didn’t think she was going to die, Elizabeth. She was eighteen and about to give birth.”
That mattered. Teagan hadn’t predicted her death. She had simply been scared.
My girl.
Trudy continued.
“She told me if something went wrong and he didn’t come, I should give the letter to you.”
Teagan hadn’t predicted her death.
I tapped the photograph.
“Is this him?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Then what do you know?”
Trudy swallowed.
“He came.”
“I don’t know his name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“After Teagan died, I saw a young man near the maternity floor asking for her.”
“You spoke to him?”
“No. I didn’t realize who he was until I looked at him properly. He matched Teagan’s description.”
My pulse started pounding.
“You spoke to him?”
“When I realized who he might be, he saw you.”
“Doing what?”
“Leaving with Lucas.”
“And?”
“He left.”
“You watched him walk away?”
“When I realized who he might be, he saw you.”
“Yes.”
“And then you kept my daughter’s letter?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I told myself you had enough grief.”
“You decided that for me.”
“Yes.”
“I told myself you had enough grief.”
“You decided it for my grandson.”
“Yes.”
My anger went cold.
“So why now?”
Trudy looked down.
