“I’m glad you think so,” Amala said, wishing it hadn’t sounded so snide. She then picked the letter back up and continued to read, only to discover that Henry had made the decision to sell his own estate and accept the eager invitation of her parents to live with Kat under their roof. A buyer for the estate had come forward with a generous offer near the time of Henry and Kat’s engagement, and to him it had felt like the hand of Providence. He’d never liked the home he’d grown up in and was glad to be free of the burden. The sale would give him even more financial resources that would more than last him a lifetime and give him plenty to pass on to his posterity, and, of course, he would contribute to the living expenses of the home he would now share with his wife’s family. It was all very practical and made perfect sense, but Amala felt consumed by a level of confusion and heartache she didn’t know how to face. She bolted out of her chair and tossed the letter at Paulina before she began pacing and wringing her hands.

“I can’t . . . take all of this in,” she said. “I can’t . . . go back there and stand at my sister’s side for the wedding. I . . . I can’t . . . live under the same roof with them like this. It’s as if . . . my home is not my home anymore. How can I go back there?”

“You don’t have to go back,” Paulina said, “at least not until you’re ready. You can choose whatever life suits you. With time you’ll be able to be happy for them. But . . . we don’t have to go back yet, Amala. We don’t.”

Amala stopped pacing and looked at her aunt. “If we’d decided to leave here and do more traveling a few days ago, I wouldn’t have received the letters. They would not have found us for who knows how long.”

“That’s true,” Paulina said with a slight smile, as if she liked where Amala’s thinking was headed.

“What happens to your mail when you move on?”