“And I raised her boys,” Clara snapped. “I gave them a home. Everything went exactly according to my plan.”
I took two steps closer to the door frame, keeping myself hidden in the shadow of the hallway. Through the narrow gap in the hinged door, I could see Clara standing by the stove, adjusting her collar with a quick, nervous tug.
Grandma Ruth sat at the kitchen table, her frail hands adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses over and over.
“They think she abandoned them,” Grandma Ruth said. “They think she did not want them.”
“It is better that way,” Clara said. “Would you rather tell them she died in that state hospice while I spent their trust fund on this kitchen?”
“She was sick, Clara,” Grandma Ruth said. “She did not have a choice.”
“We all have choices,” Clara said. “I chose to keep those boys from the state. I chose to give them a decent name.”
