Daniel’s face tightened.
“You told us she wanted nothing to do with this family. You told me she lied about the baby after the divorce was final. You told me she was unstable.”
The word landed like a slap.
Unstable.
That had been his favorite word when I cried.
Unreasonable when I asked questions.
Emotional when I wanted answers.
Unstable when I fought to be believed.
Abigail turned toward me. Her eyes shone, but her voice remained composed.
“Did you try to reach us?”
I opened my briefcase again. This time I removed a smaller bundle tied with a navy ribbon. Not because I was sentimental, but because my children had once asked why I kept letters from people who never replied.
“These were addressed to Margaret Reynolds,” I said. “Three were signed for by estate staff. Two were returned. One was delivered to Daniel’s commanding office. I never received a reply.”
