I gasp. “It was your idea to have DeFiore go after Diana.” I remember the way she shouted “no” in the courtroom. The Sphinx, performing for the audience.

Eleanor’s face breaks open, and for a second, I think she’s going to admit it. Then she pulls herself together. “It’s not impossible to repair our name, though it will require money and pandering. But to let my son go to prison? Not in my lifetime.” She pauses. “Cassandra, I came here to talk about you. I got it wrong, from the start. As a parent my job was to learn when to step in and when to back off. It’s a delicate dance, and I vacillated, every day, between too much and not enough. I smothered Billy and neglected you.”

“I wasn’t your daughter. I was a burden. You did what you could.”

“You were a child, Cassie. Not a burden. Though it’s true I was skittish with you. You were so small and defiant—and heartbroken. Rachel was your mother. You worshipped her like a religion. I didn’t want to come between you and her memory, nor did I want you to feel pressured to love me.”

“But she was barely a mother to me. You know that. She was a mess.” She was, yes, but she was also mine, my one and only. Sitting here with Eleanor, I ache for Rachel, a real mother, my real mother, someone I don’t have to prove myself to or beg affection from.

“Children don’t look at their mothers and see a mess. They see perfection. Now you have the luxury of hindsight. But back when you were five, six, seven, you were obsessed with her, and you hated me. Rather, you hated that I wasn’t her. So I took a backseat, and I allowed Lawrence to parent you in ways you wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tolerate from me. I made a choice. But like with any choice, there were consequences. I will never forgive myself, Cassie. I will do whatever I can to make it up to you, which at this point I realize isn’t much. My failure as a parent is a shame I will carry the rest of my life.” She holds out her hand. “I am so sorry, Cassandra. I am so very sorry.”