She had my eyes, and she used to tuck violets behind her ear to make me laugh.”

I looked more closely at the photograph folded inside my purse.

The woman holding the baby was much younger than the woman facing me.

I had thought age had transformed Violet completely.

Now I saw my mistake.

The tattoo was a picture of Rose, not her mother.

“Gregory,” I whispered, “why did you let me believe they were the same woman?”

He closed his eyes.