“Because I was more afraid of being loved for the money than I was of you growing up in that house,” I said. “I have known that since about the third year and I have never said it to anybody.

I would rather have had a husband who mistreated a poor woman than one who adored a rich one. That was the trade I made, and you paid for it, and I have never once been asked to say it plainly until right now.”

Phoebe sat with that for a long time.

Then she said, “Okay,” and got up, and put her cereal bowl in the sink, and stopped at the door.

“I’m glad you didn’t lie about it,” she said. “That was the actual test. Just now. You passed that one.”

Chapter 14 — Four Hundred and Six

The letter came in December, forwarded three times, addressed by hand.