“I kept your letter,” I said. “The one that supposedly came from you. It’s at my apartment.”
Rachel’s eyes searched mine. “Why would you keep it?”
“Because I couldn’t let go of the last thing I thought you wanted me to know.”
For the first time, her composure broke. She turned away quickly, pressing two fingers beneath her eyes. I remembered that gesture. Rachel had always refused to cry in front of people until she felt safe, and sometimes not even then.
Lily noticed. “Mommy?”
“I’m okay, sweetheart.” Rachel’s voice warmed instantly. “Just something in my eye.”
Lily looked at me suspiciously, as if I might be responsible for whatever had gotten into her mother’s eye. Maybe I was.
I knelt slowly in front of the stroller. “Hi, Lily.”
She studied me with solemn authority. “Your eyes are like mine.”
“Yes,” I said. My throat tightened. “They are.”
