“But it tastes like home,” he added softly.

“It tastes exactly like home.”

Chapter 13 — You Are My Real Daughter

When the bowl was set aside, Raymond worked, with enormous effort, to slip off the old gold signet ring he had worn on his hand since his service years — the one piece of himself my mother had somehow never thought to sell.

He took my hand and pressed the warm metal into my palm and closed my fingers over it.

“They may share your blood,” he said, looking straight at me.