Adele didn’t raise her voice. “No. He protected your name long after you no longer deserved it.”
Then Adele approached my notebook.
A lump formed in my throat. “Adele.”
He looked at me, asking without saying anything.
I wanted to say no.
But Maya had just called me “the man who separated six daughters from their mother.”
“Your father poisoned you.”
So I nodded slightly.
Adele opened it. “Second year. Adele asked why Maya hadn’t come to her school play. I told her I loved her. I hope one day that will be enough.”
My eyes were burning.
Adele turned the page. “Second year. Shannon accidentally called her teacher ‘mom’ and started crying in the car. I told her that families can be many different things. I waited until she fell asleep before crying myself.”
“I told her I loved her.”
At the bottom of the box was an empty frame with a small card inside.
