Her voice had gone thin.

“What is this nonsense?” Samantha stepped closer to her mother.

“It’s fifteen years,” she said, calmly, “of things Dad sent to you.

And everything you sent back.” Laura’s hand darted into the box and snatched up one of the returned letters, and she brandished it.

“This is fake,” she said, too loudly.

“This is completely fake, he made this, he”

“No,” I said, from my seat, and I stood as I said it, and my voice carried across the silent room without my having to raise it.