A courier delivered an expensive dollhouse to our front porch with a card addressed to My Granddaughter, signed Grandmother Hale.

June was thrilled by the dollhouse and confused by the signature.

I explained that Warren’s mother was called Margaret and that Margaret wanted to meet her someday.

“Is she nice?” June asked.

I did not lie.

“She has hurt people by making choices she had no right to make.

She says she’s sorry, but we haven’t decided what contact would be healthy yet.”

June looked at the dollhouse.