“What we’re looking at is the product of all that work, not the work itself. They are intentionally showing us the print without its matching plate.” Her face softened as she regarded the etching, her head cocked to the side. Mel was transfixed by her and it in equal measure. “It’s the culmination. The child, not the parent. The parent is somewhere else, invisible to us.” “Hers,” Mel said, finally understanding. She looked at the etching again, now that she had some background clues. The roundness of it could have been a belly or a breast. “Is Kade’s mother—?” “They’re estranged,” Bebe said,
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