Sophie found her mother in the garden.
Not doing anything in particular ,just standing at the far end of it, near the old rose bed her father had planted the year before the twins were born, looking at nothing specific with the expression of a woman who had been running on adrenaline for three weeks and had finally, in the brief pause between crises, run out.
Charlotte had gone. She'd said her goodbyes at the door, a long, wordless hug with Sophie that had said more than either of them could have managed aloud, a brief, dignified exchange with Margaret that had ended with Margaret pressing her daughter's face between both hands and saying nothing at all and then she'd gotten into a taxi with a bag that was considerably lighter than the one she'd arrived with and gone back to the life she
