Eleanor stood near the counter.
Olivia glanced at Claire, then back at her.
“I want to say something.”
Miriam remained by the doorway but said nothing.
Olivia held the suitcase handle with both hands.
“When I was sixteen, my father left. My mother said we were fine. We weren’t. We lost our house six months later.”
Eleanor listened.
“I promised myself I would never depend on another person’s mercy again.”
“You depended on mine,” Eleanor said.
“I know.”
“You could have asked.”
“I was ashamed.”
“Shame does not excuse theft.”
“I know.”
Olivia’s gaze fell to the floor.
“I thought if I made the house ours, nobody could take it away.”
“You made it unsafe for everyone.”
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
Michael stood behind her, his face hollow with exhaustion.
Olivia turned to him.
“I loved you.”
“I loved you too.”
“That doesn’t sound like enough.”
“It isn’t.”
She looked at Claire.
“I was wrong to put you in the middle.”
Claire did not answer.
Olivia’s eyes filled, but this time she did not wipe the tears away.
“I’m sorry.”
