Then Margaret was not simply my employer.
And Evelyn was not simply Margaret’s daughter.
“She’s my…”
“Your aunt by marriage,” Evelyn said.
“And I’m your cousin.”
I pressed both hands to my head.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.
Margaret would have told me.”
“She wanted to.”
“For eight years?”
“She was terrified.”
“Of
what?”
“That you would think she hired you because of your blood.”
I stared at her.
“Did she?”
Evelyn looked away.
And that was my answer.
Rage arrived before grief.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew who I was the entire time.”
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
“She let me clean her toilets.”
“Carly—”
“She let me scrub her floors.”
“My mother never saw it that way.”
“I don’t care how she saw it.”
People were looking at us.
I lowered my voice.
“For eight years, that woman watched me struggle and never told me she knew my mother.
