Her eyes stayed fixed on the word as if it might rearrange itself into something less ominous. Ruth. The longer she stared at it, the more it seemed to expand, filling the attic with possibilities she didn’t want to name. A tremor of panic threaded through her. What if Ruth had been someone else in his life; a woman he had loved in secret?
What if her father had carried on an affair, and this attic had been its hiding place? The thought made Miriam’s stomach twist. Darker questions followed. What if Ruth had been more than a lover? What if she had been family, blood? What if Miriam herself was not truly her father’s daughter at all, but the product of some hidden past?