“So here’s what I don’t understand,” Adele said, and now, for the first time, her voice had an edge. “You signed away your rights to us. Legally. Completely. For money.
So why are you here?
Fifteen years of silence. No cards. No calls. Not one birthday. Not when June was in the hospital. Not when Sophie broke her arm. Not once.
And suddenly, my wedding. Suddenly, ‘we’re finally together again.’
Why now, Mom?”
Maya didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Because a man near the back — one of the few guests I didn’t recognize — shifted uncomfortably, and Maya’s eyes flicked to him, and I understood, and so did Adele.
