Margaret stood behind them, one hand pressed to her mouth.
Eight years of grandmotherhood sat before her, unreachable and alive.
Olivia looked up.
“Grandma, are you crying again?”
Margaret knelt.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Do you cry a lot?”
“Not before today.”
Noah frowned. “Christmas is supposed to be happy.”
“It will be,” Margaret said, though her voice trembled. “I’m just learning how much happiness I missed.”
Sophia studied her carefully.
“That’s a sad kind of happy.”
Margaret nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
From behind us, Daniel entered the room. He looked shaken, but there was a dangerous confusion in him now. The discovery of Victor’s involvement had given him something to cling to.
A villain larger than himself.
A father to blame.
I saw it before he spoke.
“If my father intercepted the letters,” Daniel said, “then I didn’t know because he made sure I didn’t.”
I turned.
