Just:
My name is Anna.
You know that.
I’m told you’re my sister.
I would like to hear your version of what happened.
If you don’t want contact, I will respect that. But please tell me yourself.
I mailed it.
Then life became ordinary again.
Or tried to.
Stephen and I talked.
Not about Claire.
About us.
We sat on my porch one evening after Lily had gone to bed.
“You broke up with me,” I said.
“I did.”
“Do you still want that?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
“Fear.”
I waited.
Stephen looked embarrassed.
“Not of some dramatic danger. Of being connected to something I didn’t understand.”
“That’s not especially flattering.”
“I know.”
“You saw Lily and ran.”
“Yes.”
“She noticed.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“That’s the part I care about most.”
He nodded.
“I owe her an apology.”
“She is four.”
“I can apologize to a four-year-old.”
