Delia slowly turned to face her, the woman who was her mother. The face that was etched with a sadness she was only now beginning to understand. But understanding was not forgiveness. Not yet.
"You should have told me," Delia said, her voice quiet but shaking with the force of pain and abandonment. "The moment you confirmed that I was your daughter, you should have come to me."
Isla – Catherine – looked at her, her own face a mask of grief and regret. "I wanted to," she replied, her own voice a trembling whisper. "But I wasn't sure if it was okay for me to just show up in your life now, after all this time. I wasn't sure if it was alright." She wanted to hold her. "So, I just wanted to be by your side, even if it was just as a friend. I just wanted to help you, to protect you from afar."
