Because confusion replaced guilt too naturally.
“Then where did they go?” Claire asked.
Edith shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
There were still things they would never know.
Whether the letters were misfiled.
Discarded.
Left in an archive.
Whether another worker decided contact was inappropriate.
Whether some clerk threw them away during a move.
The missing letters had no villain they could prove.
Margaret accepted that.
Truth did not become less true because part of it remained incomplete.
Claire sat again.
Edith looked at her.
“I loved you.”
Claire wiped her face.
“I believe you.”
Edith’s expression changed with hope.
Claire continued.
“And you still hurt me.”
The hope vanished.
“Both can be true.”
Margaret looked at Claire.
The sentence sounded familiar.
Perhaps Claire had learned more from her than either of them realized.
Edith whispered, “Can you forgive me?”
Claire sat quietly.
“No.”
Edith began crying again.
Claire did not move toward her.
“Maybe someday I’ll understand you better. Maybe someday I’ll be less angry. But I’m not going to tell you it’s okay because you’re old now.”
Margaret looked down at her hands.
The words landed close to home.
Edith nodded.
“I understand.”
Claire stood.
Margaret followed.
At the door, Edith said, “Margaret.”
Margaret turned.
