“Carol.
Did you ever — “
“No,” Anna said quickly.
“Claire never knew anything about Carol.”
“I want to read the letter,” Claire said.
Anna and I both looked at her.
“The letter you mentioned on the phone,” Claire said.
“The one she wrote.
I want to read it.”
I looked at Anna.
She nodded slightly.
I picked up Carol’s letter from the table and held it out across the space between us.
Claire took it with both hands.
She unfolded it carefully.
She began to read.
I watched her face move through everything Carol had written — the lie at the door, the guilt, the thirty-six years of silence, the final admission.
I watched the moment she reached her own name.
Her breath caught.
Just once.
She finished the letter.
She folded it back along its original creases and set it on the table.
