Rebecca walked me to my car, lingering as I placed my bag inside.

“Mom,” she said hesitantly.

“The things you took—the treasures you and Alice collected.

Are they safe?”

I looked at my daughter, truly looked at her, and saw not the calculating woman who had plotted against me, but glimpses of the child she’d once been—the little girl who had treasured family stories, who had sat beside me as I explained the history behind each heirloom.

“They’re safe,” I assured her.