Wren's wedding was in the spring.
Not to Mr. Halloway's son. To a woman named Priya she had met at her nonprofit job, who made her laugh, who made her calm, who made her into someone none of us had ever seen before. My mother, in the months since the story ran, had learned to say the word "wife" without flinching.
I stood at the ceremony and watched my sister get married. When they said their vows, I felt my mother reach over and take my hand. I didn't pull away.
Afterward, at the reception, my mother found me by the window.
"I want to tell you something," she said. "I want to tell you something I should have told you a long time ago."
I waited.
"When you were small," she said, "you were so serious. You would sit in the corner with your books and read for hours, and I would look at y
