I’d kept it — it was the one thing I hadn’t sold, because it had been my grandmother’s and because you cannot raise two girls without a table — and Katherine sat down at it in her gray clothes and put her hands flat on the wood and looked, for a second, like a woman who remembered eating breakfast there.
Amelia stood beside my chair.
Greta came halfway down the stairs and stopped, which was, for Greta, a statement.
“Here’s the condition,” I said.
“You tell them.
Tonight.
In this kitchen.
Not me — you.
You tell Greta and Amelia, in your own words, what you said to me in that hospital room ten years ago.
The whole thing.
‘I didn’t sign up to be your nurse.’
‘I’m not throwing my life away for the three of you.’
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