From the beginning, she had told me she could not have children. I accepted that without resentment, and when she later suggested adoption, we decided to marry and build a family around a little girl who needed one.
Carol opened her eyes and looked toward me.
“Do you remember Sunday breakfasts when Rebecca was little?”
I smiled despite the ache in my chest.
“You made cinnamon pancakes, and she sat on the counter cracking eggs into the bowl with half the shell still attached.”
Carol’s mouth lifted slightly.
“She looked so much like me back then.”
“She still does.”
People in Millfield had always said our daughter had Carol’s face, although Rebecca’s bright green eyes never seemed to come from either of us. Carol looked away when I mentioned them, and at the time I assumed she was simply exhausted.
A few minutes later, her fingers tightened around mine.
