Only a short while ago, Emily wouldn’t have been having a conversation with anyone other than the birds whom she fed the crumbs of her life to.

Looking again at the Last Will and Testament of Catriona Robinson, she bit back the urge to rip it to pieces; swallowed down the distinct sense of anticlimax.

“Come with me.” Beth held out her hand to Emily. “I want to show you something extraordinary.”

Arm in arm they walked through the clinic, past the day room, past the library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a squishy sofa by the window. A small group of children sat in a semicircle on the floor, listening to one of the nurses read aloud a story about a little girl and her duck.

“The two of you really did create something rather magical.” Beth smiled as she continued to the end of the corridor, opened a door that never used to be there. “Those books have helped people in more ways than you could possibly know.”

Together they stepped inside an enormous greenhouse, filled with exotic plants and the sound of running water. Emily felt damp on her skin, looked down to be surprised by the sight of a butterfly, opening and closing its wings on a nearby leaf. There was a mosaic path running through the center and out to the gardens, and Emily could see a couple of patients tending to a rhododendron bush in the far corner.

“There’s also a new swimming pool, a Pilates studio, and we even have a couple of ponies, as well as all the chickens you used to chase.”

“What’s this got to do with me?”

Beth pointed to a sign above the door through which they had just come: “Built with the kind support of the Emily Davenport Foundation.”

“It’s because of you. Because of the money Catriona donated from the sale of all those wonderful books. And not just us,” she continued, looping her arm through Emily’s and escorting her out to the gardens. “Charities the world over have benefited from her generosity. You have helped so many people put their lives back together, Emily. It really is quite remarkable what that little girl and her duck have achieved.”

“She never told me,” Emily said in disbelief.

“She never wanted you to feel obligated. She knew how much you loved to draw and didn’t want to take that joy away.”

“She did it because of me.”

“You gave her a sense of purpose. Something she never quite found with your mother; they were simply too different. You are so very much like Catriona. Your spirit, your determination, your creativity.”

They walked on, and Emily breathed in, slow and deep, feeling a sense of calm begin to seep into her mind. She thought of all the things she now knew about Catriona Robinson. About the person, not just the grandmother. About who she was trying to get Emily to be.

“I still don’t understand why she did it,” she said with a frown. “Why she gave it all up, her life, her friends, her freedom.”