“Oh, Mom.” I didn’t know what to do. I was so angry at her, but I loved her, too. I didn’t want to see her cry like this.

“Remember our bonds, our family bonds,” Aunt Camellia said.

“Family is family,” Aunt Iris said.

“Mom,” Jules said. “Are we both adopted?”

“No,” my mother sobbed. “No. Just my beloved Evie.”

I sat back, my mind numb. Jules sat back, too. We didn’t think that Jules had been adopted, but we knew there was a possibility. She looked like my mother and aunts—blonde hair, although their hair was now white, dark brown eyes. Jules resembled them in photos when they were her age.

“I’m Baby Rose, aren’t I?”

My mother gasped, as did my aunts.

“Yes, darling,” my mother finally choked out, “You are Baby Rose.”

I was Baby Rose. My biological mother and father had been jailed for murder. One of them, probably my mother, had killed Johnny’s father. It was a huge trial. Their baby, me, had been taken from them after Betsy gave birth in jail.

“Evie,” my mother said, tears all over her face. “I couldn’t get pregnant. We didn’t know what was wrong, and the doctor didn’t either. I was nearing forty and we’d been trying for years. We went to an adoption agency. It was run by the state. We applied. We were interviewed multiple times. Finally we qualified. We were so happy. We heard about a baby being born, a girl, and we wanted you.” She stopped, ran her hands over her face. “We said yes.”

I nodded, feeling my heart squeeze. Sundance put his head in my lap, sensing my distress.

“Your father and I decided not to tell anyone that you were adopted except for Aunt Camellia and Aunt Iris and your grandfather. Your dad’s parents were gone by then. We were moving from one base to another, we had been abroad, so it was easy to present you as our daughter, born in Portland, to everyone when we moved again to another military base.”

“Why, Mom? Why didn’t you tell me?” But I knew why. I wanted to see what she would say. What she would admit to, what she wouldn’t.

“I always wanted you to feel like ours. So did Dad. We saw no harm in that. Remember, back then there was no DNA, people weren’t linking up to family members they never met. We thought you would always believe you were ours, as in our hearts, you always were, you always are.”

“And?” I prodded.

“And your parents were in jail for murder,” she whispered, stricken.

“You didn’t want me to start asking questions about them.”