“Mrs. Whitmore—”
“You knocked on my door before breakfast, told me you’ve been looking for us for years, and now you’re holding something with my daughter’s handwriting on it.” My voice came out sharper than I expected. “You can explain yourself perfectly well from my porch.”
Behind me, floorboards creaked.
“Grandma?”
I turned so quickly the chain rattled. Ellie stood in the hallway in her pink pajamas, one sock on and one bare foot peeking beneath the hem. Her hair was tangled around her face, and she had her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath one arm.
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