Liza had suspected there was something. She also knew that her mother probably shouldn’t have told her something so personal, so she didn’t pursue it. Everyone had their own story, didn’t they? Things were rarely as they appeared on the surface.

Her mother was obviously enjoying Martha’s company, and Martha had made this trip possible. For that, Liza was grateful.

“I’m sure you’re right that it was easier to make a clean break.”

“I worried about Ruth terribly. I was angry of course—I’m not a saint, but I did worry. I was afraid Adam would leave her alone with that baby. Maybe she lost the baby. I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. But now—I suppose I’m about to find out—”

Liza heard her mother’s voice wobble and tightened her grip on the phone. “We’re about to find out.” She was part of this story now. She wanted to know how it ended.

“I’m afraid reading them might be something I regret. What if I did the wrong thing, Liza?”

Her mother, who never asked or even seemed to value her opinion on anything, was asking her opinion and looking for reassurance.

Liza considered her answer carefully. “Whatever is in these letters doesn’t change the decision you made. Regret achieves nothing, and it isn’t even valid because looking back with distance, isn’t the same as looking forward when you’re close up.” It was advice she intended to take herself. There was no point looking back and wishing she’d been a different type of mother. There was no point in wishing she’d spoken to Sean sooner. She’d done what felt right at the time. “You did what was right for you and we’re going to remember that as we finish reading these letters.”

“Yes. You’re right of course. Thank you. You’ve always been sensible. You’re like your father, and that’s a good thing.”

Liza had never heard her mother like this. After her father had died, she’d been sad but practical. After the intruder she’d been feisty. But now, facing her past, she was showing a side of herself that Liza had never seen before. A vulnerable side.

“Maybe we should take this slowly.” She looked at the little stack, and wondered what other shocks and revelations lurked in those folded pieces of paper. “We could do a few a day. Or I could read them all and summarize them for you.”

“Oh Liza—” Her mother’s voice wobbled. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a daughter like you.”

The words unlocked the emotion Liza had been trying to keep under control. “You should have had an adventurous daughter, someone who wanted to travel the world. I wanted you to stay home and read to me.”

“You deserve a mother who doesn’t give you constant anxiety attacks.”