We found Mrs. Higgins, or whoever she was, sitting calmly on the couch.
“Mom, don’t,” he replied immediately.
I stepped forward. “Start explaining.”
Mrs. Higgins gently placed Noah in the crib and faced us.
“My name is Margaret,” she said. “I work for the agency under the name Mrs. Higgins because families warm up to the name better. But I wore the wig and makeup because I knew Mark would recognize me. And I knew he wouldn’t let me near the children.”
“You lied to us,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered calmly. “I did.”
“My name is Margaret.”
“Why?”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away. “Because I wanted to see Mark and my grandchildren.”
Mark let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get to play grandmother.”
“I never stopped being your mother,” she replied gently.
“You lost that right.”
“I lost custody,” she corrected quietly. “There’s a difference.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Because clearly I don’t know the whole story.”
“You don’t get to play grandmother.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mark said.
“It matters to me,” I said firmly.