“You came to my house after midnight to tell me my late father hid a relative, my former lieutenant may have been searching for her father, and my housekeeper’s husband once protected me from a betrayal I never knew existed.”

I leaned closer.

“We are far beyond shouldn’t.”

Anthony stared at me.

Then he said, “Your mother.”

I didn’t move.

Maria’s hand slipped away from my arm.

“What?”

Anthony looked miserable.

“Your mother knew.”

Something inside me seemed to crack.

“My mother d!ed when I was six.”

“No.”

The word was quiet.

Almost gentle.

That somehow made it worse.

I stared at him.

“What did you say?”

Anthony’s eyes glistened.

“I’m sorry, Daniel.”

“My mother died when I was six.”

“That’s what your father told you.”

I could hear my own heartbeat.

Nothing else.

Not Maria.

Not the rain.

Not the clock hanging on the wall.

My mother’s funeral was returned to me.

Black shoes.

Wet grass.

My father’s hand resting on my shoulder.

Never let anyone see what can hurt you.

A closed casket.

I had never seen her body. I was six. I had asked why.

My father told me there had been an accident.

“Where is she?” I whispered.

Anthony lowered his gaze.

“I don’t know.”

I gripped the edge of the desk because suddenly standing felt less certain.

Maria moved closer.

I couldn’t look at her.

“Did my father lie to me?”

Anthony answered carefully.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know the entire story.”

“How much do you know?”

“Your mother left.”

The sentence should have been easier than believing she had died.

It wasn’t.

It felt infinitely worse.

“She left me?”

Anthony’s expression softened painfully.

“No.”

I looked at him.

“She tried to take you with her.”

The room became completely still.

“What?”

“Your father stopped her.”

“How?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“You know more.”

“He told everyone she had died. He moved you away from the city for a year. New school. New house. New staff.”

I remembered.

A house near the water.

A tutor.

No friends.

My father saying we needed privacy after the funeral.

“What was her name?” Maria asked quietly.

I looked toward her.

She seemed confused.

“My mother’s?”

“Yes.”

“Catherine.”

Anthony’s face tightened.

Maria turned toward him.

“What?”

He didn’t respond.

“What is it?” she asked.

Anthony stared at her as though he had only just realized something.

Then his eyes moved toward Sofia’s photograph resting on the shelf behind my desk.

A picture Mrs. Greene had taken in the garden and framed without asking me.

Sofia was laughing.

Sunlight falling across her face.

Anthony stood.

He walked toward the photograph.