My ride out with Bonnie the other day felt like a tonic, and I found myself opening up to her much more than I had expected. Either she is adept at listening and being sympathetic, or she is making a special effort because of who I am. Either way, it doesn’t really matter – I am still consoled by the fact that she will eventually become a friend. It is so strange. I came here prepared to dislike the woman who had, as I saw it, abandoned me, and now I cannot imagine my life without her in it. When she told me about finding that lump, and believing for weeks that she had cancer, it made me go cold all over. And it makes perfect sense that a scare that momentous would have prompted her to finally seek me out, just as Anna’s death had been the catalyst for me attempting to locate her. I hate that she had to go through something so frightening alone. The thought of losing another mother is simply too much to bear, and Bonnie’s confession made me realise just how important she is to me – and always will be now that we have been returned to each other.

I am chasing these thoughts and more around in my mind as I walk up the steps of the apartment, and in my preoccupation, I don’t even see the note until my hand is almost on it.

At first, I simply stand and hold it, immobilised by an irrational fear that it somehow must be bad news, and not wanting to face it. Telling myself not to be such a coward, I lean back against the wooden railings, take a breath, and open the envelope.