we go somewhere more private?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“I’ve spent forty years waiting for people to tell me the truth. You can start right here.”
She swallowed.
I raised the wooden charm.
“Who gave you this sweater?”
“My mother.”
“What’s her name?”
She hesitated.
I stepped closer.
“Please don’t make me drag every answer out of you.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Laura.”
I studied her face.
She didn’t look exactly like my sister.
But now that I knew, I could see something familiar.
“Laura is your mother?”
“Yes.”
My
