“Helen, wait,” Thomas hissed, his face pale as he reached across the table to grab my sleeve. “You don’t understand what she is. She is unstable.”

I pulled my arm away from his grasp.

“She is Caroline’s mother,” I said. “And she is holding the truth in her hand.”

Caroline was already on her feet, adjusting the strap of her satchel over her shoulder with her single arm.

She did not look at her father as we walked toward the glass door.

The brass bell above the door jingled as we stepped out onto the wet sidewalk.

The cold rain hit my face, instantly fogging my glasses.

The driver’s side door of the blue sedan swung open, and Rebecca stepped out into the drizzle.

She was wearing a thin, faded denim jacket that was already dark with water.

Her hair was wet, clinging to her cheeks, and her face was hollowed by exhaustion.

In her right hand, she clutched the thick, cream-colored envelope with the heavy red wax seal.

“Helen,” she said, her voice cracking over the sound of the passing traffic.