“Read it, Caroline,” Rebecca whispered from the doorway.

Rebecca had not moved from her spot by the coat rack, her coat still damp, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Caroline looked down at the page, her eyes moving rapidly from left to right.

“It is dated October twelfth, two thousand eight,” Caroline said, her voice flat and steady.

“That was three months after you were born,” I said, my heart pressing hard against my ribs.

Caroline nodded, her analytical gaze scanning the lines.

“My dearest Caroline,” she began to read aloud, her tone devoid of emotion, like a scientist reading a lab report.

“If you are reading this, it means your grandmother has decided you are ready to know the truth, and that I have finally found the courage to let you.”

Caroline paused, her thumb twitching against the edge of the paper.

“I left you because I was weak, and because the people around me were cruel,” she read.

“But I did not leave you empty-handed.”

Caroline stopped reading.

She looked up at Rebecca, then down at the two blue-backed documents on the table.