Chapter 4: The Mother

The woman in the grey cardigan did not stop running until she had both arms around Astrid.

She was shaking, and she smelled of lavender and rain.

Astrid had never been held before, and she did not know where to put her hands.

"I'm Marguerite," the woman said into her shoulder. "I wrote the note. I'm your mother."

"I know."

"They told me you died. The nurse put you in a blanket and said you never took a breath."

"I'm here now."

"You are." Marguerite pulled back and held her face in both hands. "You have my mother's eyes."

Astrid had never been told she had anyone's eyes.

The tightness in her chest gave way, and she let it.

"Come inside," Marguerite said. "Please. Before the guards make their round."

She led Astrid through the side door, up the back stairs and into a long warm hall with portraits on the walls.

A man in a charcoal suit stood at the top of the stairs.

He was tall, with silver hair and kind eyes, and he was crying.

"Is this her?" he said.

"Everard," Marguerite said. "This is Astrid."

Everard Swinton came down the steps with his hands out.

He took Astrid by both shoulders and looked at her for a long moment.

"Twenty-three years," he said. His voice broke. "I have prayed for this every single night."

"You buried a coffin," Astrid said.

"I buried what I was told to bury." He wiped his face. "I will never forgive myself. Whatever you need, you will have it. Anything."

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