“I’ve birthed many children, all of them from multiple fathers,” Grace said. “Lily knew my nature and believed it would have been a corrosive influence on you. From her perspective, she did the right thing by keeping me away.”

“Well, it wasn’t right.” Monica sniffled, mopped wetness away from her cheeks. “She told me you never called. She said you gave me up and walked out, and she never heard from you again. She lied to me!”

“She told you only what she thought you needed to hear.” Reaching across the table, Grace took one of Monica’s hands in her own, squeezed. “Don’t hold this against her, child. Lily loved you as best she could, and look at how you’ve turned out. You’re a beautiful, kind, successful woman. She did a far, far better job parenting you than I possibly could have done, and for that, she deserves both our gratitude.”

“Yes.” Still tearful, Monica was nodding. “Yes, you’re right. It’s going to take me some time to process this, but I know you’re right.”

“What else do you wish to know, child?” Grace asked.

“God, there’s so much more. Where are you from, originally? How did you come to be taken in by Lily in the first place? Where was your family? Who is my father?”

“I’m afraid this is where the truth becomes sordid.” Grace sipped tea, paused before going on. “My mother was a heroin-addicted whore in New Orleans, estranged from her own family. I never knew my father and doubt she did, either, considering her line of work. Growing up, I was passed from one friend to the next and never knew stability of any kind.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about—this is my story. I ran away to live on my own when I was thirteen. By then, I had learned that sex spun the gears of the world, and I was quite adept at using it to get ahead.”

“At thirteen?”

“I had the body of a well-developed young woman at that age, but you must know, with certain men, that even a prepubescent girl is quite delectable.”

Monica felt sick. “I think I get the idea. Good Lord.”

“Sex is the way of the world and always has been,” Grace said. “Anyway, my travels, if you will, brought me to Atlanta. I encountered Lily while she was doing community work for her church. I’d hit a rough patch and was living in a women’s shelter. She and I connected, and she graciously brought me into her home to live.”

Monica was nodding. Her mother’s story was starting to align with the narrative that Lily had shared with her.

“Not long after I arrived, I got pregnant with you,” Grace said.

“My father?” Monica asked, hesitant.