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Rose thought she’d move mountains to be there. But she said, “Yes. I’ll be there.”

Eleanor told her the address, and Rose’s hand shook as she wrote it down.

That night, as a storm churned over the island, tossing the boats in the harbor left and right and pulling sand from the once-pristine beaches, Rhett and Rose stayed up late, watching television and occasionally recounting old times. Sometimes those times involved them both, but more often, they were stories from a past they hadn’t shared. Rose had the impression that Rhett hadn’t spoken to many people over the years. Loneliness echoed in his words.

When at last they finally went up to bed, they held each other’s gaze for a long time before parting. Rose’s heart thrashed with fear and excitement. But exhausted, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The following morning at the crack of dawn, Rose left her house and returned to the bakery, leaving Rhett a note with all the information he needed. He could make breakfast if he wanted to, and he could let himself out through the back door. A strange instinct suggested that she write “love” on the note, but she cursed herself and stopped the pen.

All day, Rose bustled and baked. She considered what her daughter might like, and she fought tirelessly through everything from a cheesecake to a pecan blondie to several different iterations of fudge. Nothing looked perfect for a reunion this enormous. When it was time to go, she shoved a bunch of different things into a box, hurried to her car, and sped off to the address Eleanor had given her. Her legs shook.

The house Eleanor Pike and the Legacy Club had arranged for Rose and Willow’s meeting was an abandoned vacation home with an ornate gate wrapped around the property. As the gate creaked open and Rose wheeled herself down the drive, it wasn’t hard to imagine what this place might have been like as recently as August. Elites from all over might have been here, throwing golf bags over their shoulders, arranging cocktails in the garden. She could almost hear their voices, ricocheting through the air.

There were no other cars in the driveway, which made Rose think she was the first one there. But as soon as she entered the mansion, she heard a fire crackling, and she followed it down a marble staircase into a library lined with ancient books. There, the fireplace burned with a playful orange fire. And standing before it was Rose’s mini. It was Rose’s twin.

Looking at her like this, from the doorway, Rose felt a punch in her gut.

It felt like looking at herself, at the age she’d once been. An overwhelming sense of belonging and forgiveness crashed through Rose, so much so that a small cry escaped her throat. Willow turned to look at her, surprised. In that split second, Rose saw a difference between them. Willow’s expression was entirely her father’s. It was Nate’s.

Rose and Willow stood, looking at one another for what felt like ages. Rose walked toward her, then sat in an elegant maroon chair at the end. “Wow,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to offer.

Willow sat across from her and folded her hands over her thighs. “I hope I haven’t made a mess for you,” she said. “Being here.”

“No,” Rose said. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here.”

The air was taut. Rose wasn’t sure whether she was going to laugh or cry.

And then she said, “You look just the way I did. There’s a photograph of me, holding my daughter Maxine. I must have been your age, then. I could be you.”

Willow’s eyes fluttered. “You have a daughter.”

“Another daughter, yes,” Rose said. She cleared her throat. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Willow shook her head. “It was just Mom and me.”

Mom. Rose ached to know who this other mother was.

“But she passed away recently,” Willow added quickly. “Shortly before her death, I learned I was adopted, and I went on this wild goose chase of sorts. I’m embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Rose said. And then, her voice shaking all the more, she went on. “There hasn’t been a single day since your birth that I haven’t wondered who you are or what you’re up to or if you’re happy or if I did the right thing. I was terribly young, and the pregnancy felt like the most harrowing of mistakes. But in retrospect, it was beautiful. I brought you into the world. I shouldn’t have ever regretted that.”

The corner of Willow’s lips quivered.

“Tell me about yourself,” Rose urged. Willow had so few photographs on her social media page that it had left Rose even hungrier for information.

“Well,” Willow began. “I live in Boston. I’m a music therapist, but I studied both music therapy and performance. I dreamed of making a living doing classical music, but that didn’t work out. I bombed the audition for the conservatory.” She tried to laugh, although Rose saw how painful it was.

“Do you enjoy your work as a therapist?” Rose asked.

“I do,” Willow said. “I love bringing music into people’s worlds. It’s helped so many. Most especially, it brought my mother back to the world for a while during her darkest dementia days. I couldn’t believe how well her fingers recalled some of the pieces, even as her mind couldn’t remember my name.”

“That’s beautiful,” Rose said.

“Maybe you could tell me about yourself?” Willow suggested.

Rose knew that Willow wanted to know why she’d been given away, why she’d been unwanted. Again, Rose tried to highlight how confused she’d been as a teenager, how frightened. “My mother was not supportive,” she said. “And she spoke to a group of women…”

“The Legacy Club,” Willow said. “They explained themselves to me. I can’t say I’m entirely clear on how powerful they are and why. But it feels harrowing.”