I could ask her, but I think she would lie. I suppose I can allow her a few secrets. Because I do think, overall, she has told me the truth.

I stiffen with anxiety each time I wonder how the book will be received once it’s out there and I can’t take it back. Do I want my mother to read these words? Do I wish my sister would? Yes and yes, but I’m not going to make them. Knowing they might terrifies me. But I’m not sure I wrote it for them, not exactly. I wrote it to set the record straight.

Naomi has said she doesn’t care what lies people believe about her. But I do. No story is a total truth, but I have tried to stay as close as I can.

I also, selfishly, wrote it for me. To add my voice and step out from the shadows, in some small way.

I’m finally home after a long, long day, and I’m struggling to gather my thoughts. This is where the story of Naomi Lovelace and Valerie Black ends.

My father got in this morning. My mother couldn’t sit still, clattering cups in the kitchen. She was desperate to see him, but also knew that he had called in a favour and was bringing Valerie’s ashes with him, condensed into a little cube about the same size as that snow globe. My father was tired after the trip, but we all wanted it finished. At least the journey is much faster than it used to be.

We went up to orbit. It’s smoother than it was in Naomi’s day, little different than going up in a plane. I watched the lights play across my parents’ faces as we accelerated towards orbital velocity. Their hands were clasped together. I could imagine them, younger, pretending to dislike each other but not doing a terribly good job.

We reached Godwin station. And there was our surprise.

Grace, wearing civilian clothes, shifting her weight to her right foot, something she did when she was uncomfortable. I hadn’t seen her in person for almost three years. Naomi hadn’t seen her daughter except on newscast screens for closer to five.

Our mother stopped, her mouth opening. After watching and listening to her speak for so many hours, I know her better. Naomi wanted to say something but feared uttering the wrong thing. Her mouth snapped shut and she offered a wan smile.

Grace walked towards us. Naomi held the cube in her hands. It was enamelled, lacquered in all black and studded with silver stars. No one looking at it would know what it was. Who it’d been.

Grace held her hand out, and Naomi passed it over. Grace turned the cube in her palms, investigating it from every angle with that same intensity she gave everything. With a sense of finality, she handed it back.