I knelt, careful with the veil, and cupped her cheek.
Her flower crown had slipped sideways, and one little white shoe was missing. She tugged the lace at my waist hard enough to pull a stitch.
“Mommy.”
I knelt, careful with the veil, and cupped her cheek.
“What is it, baby?”
“Evan and Uncle Peter were bad.”
The music kept playing. Somewhere behind me, a guest laughed too loudly at a joke I couldn’t hear.
She glanced toward the cake, then back at me.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
Sophie pressed her face into my skirt.
“I was told not to tell. But you said I have to tell you everything.”
“That’s right. So tell me. Why were they bad?”
She glanced toward the cake, then back at me, her small voice shaking the way it did when she’d broken something and didn’t want to.
“They were in the garden room. The one with the green couch. Uncle Peter said papers. Evan said when you sign, the money goes.”
I kept my hand steady on her back.
