Laura, looking quite apologetic, leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m fully aware that we aren’t like most families. We’re living in a bit of a bubble, out here on our own. But it’s a very peaceful life. And with the books, and the garden, and all the history here . . . it’s a good life.”

Maybe there was some shadow of skepticism on my face, because her smile grew firmer, more determined to convince me.

“You’ll see. All the things you think we don’t have . . . it’s noise. Before long, you’ll understand.”

I suddenly felt self-conscious under her gaze, as if she was seeing more than I wanted to show her. I turned my face away. I felt angry, but I didn’t want to be angry at Laura.

“Margot, the world wants you to grab for every shiny object. But sometimes all you really need is time and space to be yourself.” Then she reached down and gently smoothed my hair, the way she did with Agatha. “So what I’d like you to do is stop asking about getting online. Our answer is no, and it will always be no.”

Her voice was so silky and calm that it took a moment for the impact to land. And then I felt like I’d been slapped. Scolded like a child, for what—asking to have a minor connection with the world outside of Copeland Hall? Was that a crime?

If she could tell I was seething, she didn’t let on. “You may not know who you are anymore, but we see the real you. And we want to help you find yourself again. Because we like you, Margot. We like you a lot.”

She slipped away before I could answer, and then I sat there reeling from about eight hundred different emotions—shock, sadness, anger, humiliation, and also a splinter of resentment against myself—resentment for being angry at Laura, when part of me thought she might be right. And hoped she was. Might I find myself again? If I was quiet enough, if life moved slowly enough, could the real me emerge from the silence?

Still, even if that were true . . . she’d been lying to me. I hated the word, and I tried to keep myself from thinking it, but I couldn’t suppress it because it was so obviously true. She’d lied to me in a strange, controlling way, when it would have been easy to tell me the truth.

But that was just Laura, I thought in her defense. She was a strange and controlling person.

Yes, she was, wasn’t she? She was old-fashioned, inflexible, moralistic, and demanding. And none of that had been an issue yet, because I was so eager to win her approval. The question that scared me a little was, what would she do when I finally felt at home enough to defy her? Surely that would happen one day.