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Addy made sure Sage would remember all of it.

Three hundred and twelve letters.

Some of them about Sean.

Some about me.

I press the dish towel against the counter.

What could Addy possibly have written?

Did Mae tell her what happened the night Sage was born?

Did she tell her I begged Mae to take my baby to Sean?

Did Addy know Mae tried to find him?

There are answers sitting inside Sage’s backpack at Iron Ridge.

But the letters belong to Sage.

She decides when we read them.

If we read them.

I fold the dish towel and hang it over the oven handle.

“You don’t have to clean.”

I turn.

Sean stands in the kitchen doorway.

He changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair is still damp from a shower, but exhaustion shadows his face.

“Neither did you.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then who washed the dishes?”

“Will.”

I look toward the hallway.

“Will washed the dishes?”

“He’s afraid Sage won’t bake again if we leave a mess.”

Despite everything, I smile.

“Smart man.”

“He has moments.”

Sean walks into the kitchen.

For a second, I don’t know what to do with my hands.