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“Not enough,” Elaine seethed. “You’re still here, in this big house of yours. Sitting on all your money. After everything you did, you lived the longest out of any of them.” Her voice broke at the last part.

Josiah. Edith. The kindest people she knew, the family she’d made, all gone. “You hate me,” Vivian said. “You wish I were dead.”

“And yet we’re not that lucky, are we?”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Vivian said. “I tried to help your mother, you know. I did everything I could. I’m so sorry she suffered as she did.”

Elaine said slowly, “How did you know about her? She never spoke to you.”

Vivian lifted her chin. “Who do you think made those anonymous donations to your page?”

Elaine rose from her chair.

“I cared about her,” Vivian said. Every few months she had looked them up on the internet, until finally, she saw each of their obituaries. “She was like a sister to me. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

“I don’t. You didn’t do that because you cared about us. You did all these things to absolve your guilt. You wanted forgiveness. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Elaine towered over Vivian now; for a moment she believed Elaine would hit her. “We willneverforgive you for what you’ve done. And I want you to live the rest of your pathetic life knowing that.”

Vivian nodded once, ruefully. “So this is how it ends, then.” She pushed her chair back. “Now you know.”

Elaine glared at her one last time. Then she shoved her hands into her pockets. She stalked through the house, pausing at the door. And then she spat onto the floor.

As Vivian stared at the glistening wad of spit, the front door slammed shut, startling her. She was alone in the house again.

She hunched over, her forehead resting against her clasped fists. Finally, she allowed herself to weep. Her shoulders shook; her chest ached. She could feel the vengeful roots under the house trembling. She imagined them tearing her apart and shredding her brittle bones from her flesh.

She felt a hand on her arm and looked up into the face of her daughter.

“She was never going to let this go, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Vivian whispered. “I thought confessing might placate her. There’s nothing else I can do.”

Ada nodded. “I know. So now you have to get out of this place.”

“But I can’t leave you.”

She had thought that Sophie was the one keeping Ada here, but what if Ada was here because she was? Because—beyond Sophie’s rage—Vivian herself had never let go? Because a selfish part of her clung to the remnants of her daughter?

Shehadwished for Ada to be set free. She knew deep down that the Ada she ate dinner with every night was not truly her daughter—it was a version of her frozen in time. But after losing Ada, she had treasuredthe ghost of her all the same. How could any mother not want to be with her child, even if it was just a piece of her? Vivian was terrified of being truly alone in this life. She wanted Ada to be near, to stay here, tethered to her. Sitting down to dinner with Ada’s ghost every night had become a ritual. It was both a penance and a comfort.

No, she wouldn’t be able to let go of Ada as long as she was alive. But maybe if she died, her daughter would be set free.

She looked up at Ada. “I can’t do this anymore. I just want this pain to end. I want to rest with you.”

She’d finally said it. Her daughter’s eyes widened. “Ma. Are you sure?”

Vivian nodded.

She looked toward the door. There was one last thing she had to do. She shuffled to the living room table, where the landline was. She felt her daughter’s eyes on her as she dialed another number.

“Hello?”

The garden—Sophie—was going to take her. Probably destroy the house. She needed to save her other daughters from that possible fate.

“Reid.” Vivian cleared her throat. “Listen. I need to make some changes to my will.”

The day was ending.

Vivian had finished her call with Eugene Lyman’s son and handwritten the amendment to the will. She signed the codicil, sealed it in an envelope, and put it in the mailbox. She shuffled through the house, straightening things to the best of her abilities. She couldn’t do much. Her joints ached. Her steps were difficult. Maybe her body was finally giving out.