I looked at her. Then at my grandson, standing beside me with his backpack half slung over one shoulder, waiting for me to explain why we were talking to a stranger instead of walking to the car.
“You’re Callum’s mother,” I said.
She nodded.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
My grandson, Micah, shifted closer to me.
“Grandma? Who is that?”
I folded the papers I’d been holding, not to hide them from him, but because I suddenly understood I’d spent ten years raising him with only half of his own history.
Simone looked at him and her face came apart.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “He has Callum’s whole jaw.”
Micah frowned, glancing between us. “Who’s Callum?”
I looked at Simone. She looked back at me.
“Sweetheart,” I said carefully, “I think she might be your family.”
“What kind of family?”
Simone pressed her hand over her mouth.
