“You made me blow up sixteen years.” His voice cracked at the top of it.

“You made me put my own daughters on a plane.

I begged one of my kids to help me split up the others.

I fought my own mother over the trust.

I did all of it — for a child who was never even mine.”

At the head of the table Rosalind had sunk back into her chair with a hand pressed to her chest, and her sister had rushed to her side, and the old woman’s voice when it came was thin and furious.

“Get her out of my house,” she said, pointing a shaking finger at the woman on the floor.