reached across the table and took her hand.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I know.”
Then she leaned against me.
And I held her.
For a while, I thought that was the final difficult secret Daniel had left behind.
A few nights later, Mia proved me wrong.
I found her sitting quietly with an old photograph in her hands.
Daniel was about twenty-five in the picture.
Young.
Smiling.
Completely unaware of everything that would come afterward.
“Sophie gave me this,” Mia said.
“She thought I should know what he looked like.”
I
