“I just thought . . . well, that makes sense now, doesn’t it?” She saw my look of frustration and shook her head. “Sorry. Let me start at the beginning. Three years ago, two young women from Father Thomas’s congregation went to the police charging him with sexual assault. A case was opened and it went to trial a year ago. None of the nuns wanted to testify against him, even though some of them went through what you’d been through, but you were an ex-novice, you see, and had nothing to lose, so I thought you might consider it. I gave them your address but they never heard back.”

“I never got their letter. The postal service wasn’t very reliable.” I had so many questions but the one that came out was one that had been niggling from before: “How did you know that I was in Zaire? How did you have my address there?”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on your whereabouts. I’m the one who’s been sending you the photos of Daniel throughout the years.”

“That was you?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t imagine what it was like, having to give up your child like that, especially under those circumstances. I wanted you to know that he was fine and that he was cared for even though you couldn’t be with him.”

“I’d always thought it was Father Thomas sending them but he denied it at the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

“Yes, I saw him there when I went to try and visit Daniel.”

“You were there? I kept hoping you’d come but I never saw you.”

“I saw you,” I said. “Twice. Once in May and then on . . . on the day Daniel died.”

“But, Delilah . . . I don’t understand . . . Why didn’t you come in to see him or at least try to speak with me?”

“Father Thomas told me that my being there would upset you, that you were Daniel’s real mother and that I had no right to see him.”

She shook her head, clearly angry. “He wouldn’t leave at first. He insisted on being there even though he had no right and it’s not what Daniel would have wanted. I was too shocked and upset early on to put my foot down but when I’d finally had enough, and I threatened him . . . then he left.”

Her fury is what betrayed her. “He did the same thing to you, didn’t he?”

She bowed her head. “How do you know?”

“It was the way you looked at my bruises that day after he dropped me off at the convent. Like you knew what had caused them. And the way you were afterward when everyone found out. Like you understood.”

“I did. I was just lucky enough not to get pregnant.”

“So, you didn’t testify?”

“No.”

“Why not?”