Father died last autumn, though he’d gone long before in all but body. Mother passed away this January. Hers was sudden, but peaceful. They are buried at St James’s. And with them both gone, my job is done, the price of their protection duly paid. That sounds like I begrudge it. I do not.

All the while I protected them, I carried another burden, which I can no longer hide. The burden of the secret I kept from you. It is to my shame and my desperate sadness that I held this from you for so long. That it happened. That I allowed it to end up the way it did. I do not expect your forgiveness.

There is no easy way to say this, James, and I am sorry for what will undoubtedly follow this news, but you have to know that we have a child. The newspaper clipping I enclose is our son. Born in Graves Park beneath our tree, and left – in desperation – on the steps of St John’s Church.

He was beautiful. Perfect. A tiny picture of us both.

He was everything I could not have, everything that could not be. How could I have returned home that night as a mother? Their reputation, my life, yours… all irrevocably changed by our act of weakness. We may not have been quite children, but we were not very much more. You’d gone, it was too late.

James, I have regretted my choice every day since. I lied, every day of my life, and I felt torture because of that. But I never had the strength or courage to change it. And now here we are. So many years have passed; such is the brevity of human life.

If this letter finds you, I hope, though do not expect, that you can forgive me. Even if I can’t be here to accept it. For that too, I am sorry.

Should you choose to try and find him, tell him I am sorry. I couldn’t even manage that. His name is Rhys Woods. From Sheffield. He’s a plumber, and the kindest man I’ve ever had the pleasure to sit silently in a room with.

I only wish I’d been stronger.

With my love, forever yours, and his,

Susan. X

Chapter Forty-Four

RHYS

‘And you’ve no idea what the letter says?’ James asks again.

‘She never said, and I didn’t ask. I was distracted at the time. It’s hard to explain.’

James nods, hands clasped, knuckles still white. There’s distance in his eyes, as if he is visiting their past to try and work out why she’d contact him now. ‘Does she hint where she may be? Does she say anything we need to consider?’ I ask. ‘I can call the police, tell them all about it.’

He looks down at the letter, folded tight in his hands. I can see him thinking, and I cross everything there’s something in her words that we can go on. Disappointment swells as he shakes his head, seemingly out of words.