“My mother wanted you to have this,” she said, placing the tin on the coffee table.

“She used to make it herself.”

I recognized the scent immediately.

It brought back the rehabilitation center, the little garden outside the east wing, and a woman’s gentle voice asking whether I wanted to sit outside for a few minutes.

“Why didn’t Miriam tell me who she was?” I asked.

“She was ashamed of how our family had kept secrets,” Joanna said.

“She’d spent years wondering whether telling Colton about his half-sister would make his life better or simply hurt everyone.