Beatrix’s voice softened to a pitiful whimper. “I chose to help Alice. If she’s anxious over Adeline, don’t blame her. It’s my fault—I’m just useless.”
Paul pointed to the door, his voice cold. “Get out. I should never have let you come here. You’re both mothers—can’t you be more understanding? Is Adeline the only child who matters?”
I leaned against the wall, feeling a weight press down on me. For the first time, I could admit the truth: the most helpless person here was me.
Since I was nineteen, my life had been trapped in the shadow cast by Beatrix. And I had never managed to escape.
Paul once told me that I helped him turn his life around. After he found hope, he wanted to share it with others. Among the people he helped, Beatrix was the most special.
When Beatrix was nineteen, she insisted on going alone to pick up my birthday cake and ended up surrounded by a gang of punks. Paul reminded me, “She’s doing this for you; one day, you should protect her a little.” My heart ached for Beatrix—so vulnerable, so alone. Ignoring an odd feeling I couldn’t quite place, I agreed.