Then she remembered the dressing table where Ruth kept their important documents and hurried back to her mother’s room. The drawer was locked, but the key wasn’t hard to find. She soon pried it open and tipped the contents out: a few pieces of jewelry and a ten-pound note. The birth and marriage certificates were gone.

Alice sank down on the edge of the bed as her breasts released another sharp wave of heat and pain. She was clutching Eadie’s blanket, staring at the empty drawer, when the framed family photographs distracted her. Except for the photo of her father in his zookeeper uniform, all the pictures morphed into people she barely recognized; once important family occasions took on a somber meaning.

Alice stared at the image of her and her mother on her twelfth birthday—a party at the zoo—their faces pressed together as they beamed at the camera. They had been close before grief had distorted Ruth’s emotions and religion had made a fossil of her heart. After learning of her pregnancy Alice had managed her heartbreak and humiliation, quarantining her feelings of shame and disgrace for the more important ideal and role of motherhood. Was it too much to ask for her mother to do the same?

Finally there was the sound she’d been waiting for: a door opening and footsteps in the hallway below. The light outside had faded, and Alice rose quickly and hurried downstairs, glancing into the empty living room as she walked past.

A loud male voice echoed from the kitchen, making her hesitate before she threw open the door. Ruth turned abruptly, and Alice realized the voice was coming from the wireless.

“Where is she? Where’s Eadie?”

Ruth was at the sink and froze as her daughter advanced on her. “I’m sorry, Alice . . . I can’t tell you.”

“Why? What have you done with her?”

“You won’t make me change my mind.” Ruth glanced at the blanket then back at Alice, her lips tightening.

“How could you?” Alice shouted, moving closer, eyes wide with fury. “Where is she?”

Ruth backed away, gripping hold of the countertop behind her with both hands. “I can’t tell you. It’s best for everyone. Are you all right? Did the nurse take care of you?”

“You lied to me. You were supposed to help me . . . help us.” Alice clutched the blanket to her chest.

“You shouldn’t have come, Alice, you really shouldn’t have. You should still be in bed.” Ruth snapped off the wireless broadcaster mid-sentence. “I’m helping you. Can’t you see that? This way you’ll have the chance of a future—”

“A future . . . without my baby.”

“But you can have a husband now—a husband and a family you can call your own,” Ruth said, stretching out a hand.

“Don’t touch me!” Alice screamed, backing away. “I don’t care about that. I don’t want another family.”