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"I don't know his reasons, and honestly, I don't care. But…I already told you that you're forgiven. You didn't have to come here years later."
I frowned. "When did you tell me?"
"In the letter."
"Letter?"
She choked out a harsh laugh. "I should've known. I sent back the money you left on the motel bed, plus, what you paid for the airfare. It took me a few months to earn that money. You know, I can't afford business class. So, I compromised and sent you what it cost me to buy the ticket."
I felt something crash inside me.
"You didn't have to pay—"
"I did. You called me a whore."
I felt liquid emotion hit the back of my eyes. I hadn't felt like this since my father died.
"I never got a letter or any money, Isha."
"I sent it to Ace, and obviously, he didn't tell you."
"When did you send it?"
I shrugged. "Christmas that year. I had enough time to look back and…I decided to let it go. It was part of my catharsis, writing that letter. I think I was under the foolish notion that Ace would've told you the truth, and I had this whole scene in my head…." She laughed again.
"What scene?"
She chuckled. "That you'd find me and apologize."
"I didn't look for you," I told her bitterly. I hadn't, because I couldn't imagine how to ask for forgiveness. I had treated the woman I loved terribly, and no amount of apologies could ever make up for it.
But when fate placed her in front of me, I had to find her, I couldn't resist it.
"You did now."
She seemed truly over me. There was no hint of bitterness or sadness. Just resignation.
"We must seem like terrible people to you." I downed the rest of my whiskey.
"You are terrible people, Rowan. But that's your burden. I didn't make it mine."
I looked at the glass in my hands and curbed the urge to throw it across the room at a wall and hear it break. I wanted to commit a physical act of violence. But mostly, I wanted to kick my own ass.
"I'm so sorry, Isha."
"You already said that, Rowan." She got up and gave me a placid, hostess smile, one who was kindly asking her last guest to leave.
I set the whiskey glass down on the coffee table and rose. "Flora is exquisite."
Her smile widened, natural, beautiful. "She is, isn't she? I see Yas in her all the time. She'll make a face once in a while, and it's pure Yas. Then she'll say something, and she sounds like Derek."
I walked to where she had photographs and pointed to a couple. "Is this them?"
"Yes."
Yas was mixed race like Flora. I couldn’t place her. She could be Latino, Indian, Spanish…. Derek was white.
"And these are Derek's parents." She pointed to the photograph of the older couple holding Flora when she was a baby.
