“You were her retreat,” I said.

Carol’s face tightened. “No. I was her regret.”

That single sentence broke me in a way Bradley’s cruelty never had. My eyes filled. I looked back at the photographs — Helen laughing, Helen stirring soup, Helen beside Carol under a blanket on the porch — Helen looking like someone trying to make up for an entire lifetime through ordinary afternoons.

“She talked about you,” Carol said.

I shook my head. “She lied to me.”

“Yes.” Carol didn’t soften it. “She did.”