Hazel's POV
"I know what happened to Margaret Hale," the woman on our porch said quietly, "and I know it was not the whole truth."
Julian's hand found mine before I even realized I had reached for him, his fingers cold despite the warm summer night still clinging to the garden behind us.
The woman standing under our porch light was perhaps sixty, dressed simply, holding a worn leather folder against her chest like armor. I had never seen her before in my life.
"Who are you," Julian asked, his voice carrying the flat, careful tone I recognized from his boardroom days, the one he used when he was frightened and refusing to show it.
"My name is Diane Foster," she said. "I worked for your father for eleven years. Before Vivian's mother. Before any of this began."
Grace's second crib wait
