But standing in front of that little girl, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She was not responsible for a single secret Thomas had kept.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I would have wanted to know.”
Lucy smiled.
Then she wrapped her arms around me.
I held her.
And for the first time since Thomas died, I felt something other than loss.
Before I left, Julian showed me the workshop.
He explained that many of the teenagers came from difficult homes.
Some were leaving foster care.
Others needed an after-school place where they could learn something useful and feel safe.
He and his late wife, Anna, had opened the center fifteen years earlier.
After Anna died, Julian nearly closed it.
Thomas had helped him keep it running.
I stopped beside a shelf filled with handmade birdhouses.
One was painted purple.
I touched it.
“Lucy made one just like this.”
Julian smiled sadly.
