“Who are you?”
Frank had mentioned her once. He’d said Margaret always found the version of the truth that served her best.
She looked at my old robe and peeling doorframe.
“This is exactly what I warned you about,” she told Evelyn. “She’s already using that child to make you feel guilty.”
I unhooked the chain.
“Her name is Emma.”
Margaret’s eyes moved past me.
“Her name is Emma.”
“Where is she?”
I blocked her view.
“You don’t ask for my daughter before explaining why you’re on my lawn.”
“You disappeared for ten years,” she said. “Now you want money.”
“I never asked you for anything.”
“You never contacted us.”
