A horrible possibility flashed through my mind.
“Grandpa…”
My voice broke.
“Are Caleb and I related?”
His head snapped toward me.
“No. Absolutely not. Not by blood. Don’t even think that.”
The relief was immediate but brief.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
Grandpa stared down at Nora.
“Because your mother used to work for Caleb’s family.”
I frowned.
“Doing what?”
“She was Caleb’s nanny.”
The words made no sense at first.
Grandpa continued.
“When Caleb was around seven, your mother lived in their home because of her job. And since you were still a little girl…”
He looked at me carefully.
“You lived there too.”
A strange sensation ran through me.
Images I couldn’t fully understand moved somewhere at the edge of my memory.
A garden.
A large staircase.
Sunlight on a long hallway.
And suddenly—
“A red bicycle,” I whispered.
Grandpa’s expression changed.
