My mother looked so tiny as she sat on the marble lip of the bath. She undid the buttons on her cardigan, followed by her white shirt, draping them over the bathroom chair, then she took off her bra, which fell to the floor with a thud. That’s when I saw them, two thick, jagged scars on her pale skin where her breasts should have been. I thought back to my childhood, trying to place this new information into context. I can’t read you stories forever, Honor. You have to learn to be alone. Was this the reason she sent me to boarding school? Had she been too ill to take care of me?
