“That’s not something you should tell me, Catalina.”

She turned her gaze to his and he was jarred once again by Isabelle’s eyes staring from her face. “You’re with her romantically, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“She won’t stay with you, you know. She never stays. Isabelle is like me that way. She’s a traveler, a mover. Isabelle might hate me, but she’s a kindred spirit in that regard. Even when she was a child she liked it when I moved them between caregivers and countries.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

She licked her lips and glanced away. “I was not cut out for motherhood.”

“Then why have children?”

She shrugged. “It happens. You know Angela has”—she swallowed hard—“had a different father than Isabelle?”

“I suspected, yes.”

“They were both accidents. I never meant to have kids at all. It probably would have been better if I hadn’t.”

“I strongly disagree. The world would have suffered for the lack of Isabelle and Angela.”

A smile flickered over her lips. “Through no help from me they both turned out well. Especially Angela. I still don’t know how that happened. Must have been her father’s genes. Isabelle is—”

“Perfect. Isabelle is perfect in every way.”

Catalina tilted her flawless face toward him. Vulnerability engulfed her expression for a moment. “Does she still have claustrophobia?”

Guilt filled his stomach with lead. When Isabelle had revealed her phobia of locked rooms right after he’d locked her in one, he’d felt so bad he would have done anything in the world to make it up to her. “Yes.”

“She has that fear because of me, because I left her with someone who mistreated them.”

“What?” Anger simmered. “Mistreated them? What are you talking about?”

She turned away from him, showed him her rigid back, and took a couple steps away. “They spent time with some people they shouldn’t have once or twice.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe more often than that. Isabelle was a handful, always misbehaving. Once, when she was six, one of her caretakers locked her in a closet for four days. No food, no water, no light. She ended up in the hospital, would have died of dehydration if Angela hadn’t spilled water under the door’s crack. That’s why Isabelle is claustrophobic. She used to have recurring nightmares, too.”

Four days. She’d only been six years old.

The anger simmering in his blood came to a boil. He took a step toward the woman in front of him and clenched his fists so hard he probably drew blood from his palms with his fingernails. “Why are you telling me this?”

She turned toward him with sorrow in her eyes. “Because someone who cares about Isabelle needs to know.”

Thomas closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the woman who had caused Isabelle so much pain. “I’m going to ask you to leave now, Catalina.” The words came out steadier than he’d expected.