“What’s the point?” she asked. “I told your brother, and look how well it served me.”

Fred knew? And hadn’t told me? “I’m not my brother,” I said, irritated that he’d be so petty.

“No,” she agreed, her voice soft. “You’ve always been the most loyal of my children. My favorite.”

I watched her elbow move as she lifted the glass to her mouth, but the only sound was the crackling of the fire. I felt tense with anticipation, perhaps more than the situation warranted. What would she say? Would her story paint a different picture of our lives? Would it change the way I felt about her?

“I was sixteen and a fool when I met your father.” She set the glass down but didn’t remove her hand from it. “He’d left Goshawk’s Hollow, gone to the continent for a time, then returned to Trianon.” She turned around, and I did not fail to notice the streaks of damp on her face or the redness of her cheeks. “He was looking for a bit of excitement.” She gestured at herself, flicking her hand up and down. “He found it at the opera house.”

I winced, discomforted about thinking of my parents that way.

“I was certain I was in love. Thought the sun rose and set on him, and that we’d be together forever.” She drained her glass. “My mother warned me otherwise, but I wouldn’t listen. And by seventeen, I was married and pregnant with your brother.” Her lip trembled, and she bit it furiously, trying to keep her emotions under control.

“It was fine, at first. Your father worked in the city, and I worked for the opera company when I wasn’t too big with child.” Her shoulders twitched. “He knew how much I loved singing onstage, and he promised never to keep me from my passion.” One fat tear ran down her face.

“But after your sister arrived, we received word that your grandfather was ill. Your father went back to be with him when he died, and when he returned, everything was different. All he talked about, all he cared about, was that farm. What I wanted wasn’t important anymore.” She shook her head sharply. “He insisted we move to the Hollow, but I refused. I’d grown up in the city. Everyone I knew and cared about was in the city. The thought of leaving made me miserable. I thought he’d come around, that he loved me enough to stay.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I was wrong.”

She was crying now. My mother, who never cried, was snuffling and sobbing. “I wanted to keep you three, but he wouldn’t let me. He convinced me that I couldn’t do it, that we’d be destitute, that my babies would starve.” The words came out between gulps of air, and she wiped a hand under her nose. “My own mother went missing when this was all happening, and everything was madness and misery, and I… I let him take you.”