“When you guessed that the H stood for a variant of Henry. It’s for Henrietta.” He was looking at me shyly, sidelong. “What does the J stand for?” “Joanna,” I said, and I felt something vague, foolish, but undeniably heavy roll off my shoulders. “My name is Joanna.” “Thank you,” he said softly, and I knew that he, of all people, understood.
