My son Oliver wore the same silver locket every day for two years.

Robert Calloway was formally charged eleven days after the filing.

Claire called to tell me.

I was in the kitchen making Oliver's lunch when the phone rang.

I listened, said very little, thanked her, and finished making the sandwich.

Oliver came in from the hallway still pulling off his school bag.

"Who was that?"

"Claire," I said.

"The solicitor."

"What did she say?"

I looked at him.

He was watching me with that particular steadiness he'd had since the night of the dinner — like something had settled in him that had been unsettled for a long time.

"She said the case is moving forward," I said.

"The man who took your mum's money is going to have to answer for it in court."

Oliver thought about that.

"Will it take long?"

"Probably."

"Will we have to go?"

"Maybe.

Claire will tell us when and if."

He nodded and sat down at the table.

I put the sandwich in front of him.

"Gran called this morning," he said.

"While you were in the shower.

I answered."

I hadn't known that.

"What did you talk about?"

"She told me about when Mum was little.

She said Mum used to collect buttons.

Like, off old coats and things.

She kept them in a tin." He picked up half his sandwich.

"I didn't know that."

"Neither did I."

"She said she has the tin," he said.

"She asked if I wanted it."

"Do you?"

He considered this seriously.

"Yeah.

I think so." He paused.

"Is that okay?

To want things from someone you just met?"

"Margaret isn't someone you just met," I said.

"She's your grandmother.

She's been waiting to meet you for a long time."

He seemed to accept that.

He ate in silence for a moment.

"Dad," he said.

"Did Diana know Mum was sick when she started coming round?"

I had been waiting for this question.

I had hoped it would come when I was ready for it.

I wasn't.

"Yes," I said.

"She knew."

He was quiet.

"She wasn't a good person," he said.

Not as a question.

"No," I said.

"She wasn't."

"But you didn't know."

"No.

I didn't."

He looked at his sandwich.

"Mum knew."

"Yes.

She did."

"That's why she wrote the letter."

"Yes."

He nodded slowly.

"Okay," he said.

And went back to eating.

That evening, a letter arrived by courier.

No return address.

Inside was a single handwritten page.

*Nathan —*

*I won't ask for forgiveness.

I know what I did and I know what it cost.

I am writing this because my solicitor has advised me not to, and I have spent my life taking advice I should have ignored and ignoring advice I should have taken.*

*Emma was a better person than anyone in my family deserved.

I knew that when she was a child.

I knew it when she left.

I knew it every year she stayed silent when she had every right to speak.*

*I told myself I was protecting the family.

I told myself the money would have been wasted on a young woman who didn't understand what it took to build something.

I told myself many things.*

*I don't expect you to believe that I am sorry.

But I am.*

*Take care of the boy.*

*— Robert*

I read it once.