The woman at my door asked for help as if 10 silent years could be explained away later. She had left me in a wheelchair with our two daughters to chase a better life. I agreed to help, then reached for a battered storybook. Katherine recognized the cover. She had no idea what waited in its margins.
Katherine looked older than the woman who had abandoned us.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Katherine looked older.
Not the faded gray coat or the split leather along one boot. Not the hair she had once kept perfectly highlighted, now tied back with an ordinary black band.
Her face looked tired in places where expensive makeup used to hide.
Amelia stood inside the open doorway, one hand still on the knob.
She was ten and had Katherine's eyes.
Her face looked tired.
Katherine noticed that too.
"Hello," she said.
Amelia looked at me over her shoulder.
