Daniel recoiled.
“Don’t rewrite him because of her.”
“Because of her?” Margaret’s voice cracked like ice. “Because of the four children in the dining room. Because of eight years stolen from me. Because I am holding proof in my hands that my husband decided I did not deserve to know my grandchildren existed.”
She turned away from Daniel as if she could not bear his face.
Then, slowly, she walked toward the hall.
I followed.
We found the children on the floor beside a miniature Christmas village, watching three tiny trains circle painted houses and frozen ponds. Noah and Ethan were arguing over which train would win in a race that clearly did not exist. Sophia had arranged little ceramic people into what appeared to be a public hearing. Olivia had placed a frosted cookie beside the church.
“For the tiny people,” she explained when she saw me.
