“Eric? Noah? What are you doing here?”
“We know about our mother,” I said. “Grandma told us everything.”
For a moment, Clara just froze.
“I don’t know what your grandmother has been telling you, but she’s old and confused.”
“Clara, stop,” Noah snapped.
Noah looked at me. I could see him bending, the way he always bent when she used that voice.
I lifted one of Mom’s letters and read aloud:
”Clara, please love my boys until I can hold them again. The treatment is hard, but I will come back. Hopefully. Tell them I never wanted to leave.”
Clara’s grip on her purse loosened. She lowered herself into the chair across from us, one hand flattening against the table.
“You had no right.”
I kept my voice even.
“She trusted you.”
Clara pressed her knuckles to her lips.
“I know.”
Noah leaned forward, sliding the trust papers toward her.
