I poured the boiling water into the ceramic mugs and watched the dark tea leaves swirl inside the paper filters.

“He thought of her as his daughter,” I said, setting the steaming mug in front of her.

“Paul was a good father,” Rebecca said.

“He just knew you couldn’t bear an eleven-year-old child after what happened in the delivery ward.”

A car door slammed out in the driveway, heavy and dull through the closed blinds.

Rebecca unbuttoned her coat and laid it over the kitchen stool.

“That’s Mrs.