Chapter 11: Dear Rochelle

I read Adelaide's card twice with Poppy's school portrait in my other hand.

In the photo my girl was smiling with her mouth closed, because she was embarrassed about the missing tooth.

Behind me Silvan stood in the loft doorway with his shirt half buttoned, very still.

"She's right," he said. "I've been keeping something from you."

"Then tell me."

"I'd rather you read it. But you should hear one thing first."

He came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, with his hands hanging between his knees.

"I've hated you for four years, and I was wrong. I need you to know what I hated you for."

"I'm listening."

"At Lila's funeral Rhett told me you knew. He said you'd known from the start and you took the job anyway."

"Knew what?"

"What's in the envelope."

I stared at him.

"He said you and Adelaide had an understanding," Silvan said.

"I thought you'd walked into my sister's house knowing.

"I thought you let her die believing her daughter would be loved by a stranger who had planned it."

"I didn't know anything."

"I know."

"You thought that for four years."

"I did. Every day I watched you carry that kid up the stairs, and I told myself it was an act."

His voice cracked on the last word.

"I'm sorry. It's the worst thing I've ever done, and I did it quietly."

I should have been angry.

I looked at him, and I felt only tired, and raw.

"Give it to me," I said.

He brought the thick envelope up from the shop and put it in my hands.

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