Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to brush them away. But her mother caught her hands. “Never be sorry,” she said, “for who you are.” Charlotte understood then that burning the pages of her journal had done nothing. Her mother already knew. She looked back at her husband and son, standing on the steps. “Some people keep their heart tucked so deep, they hardly know it’s there. But you,” she went on, turning back toward Charlotte, “you have always worn it like a second skin.”
