Not Rydia. She didn’t look like Rydia, only a resemblance here and there – like an older sister. The way she moved was graceful, elegant, and confident, with no trace of the sorrow. The way she spoke, or chose not to, and her voice were different as they were similar. This woman – this stranger – was a shadow of the child that Rosa remembered.

But there were times – when they were alone, or something broke through, or she crept between Cecil and herself in the middle of the night, thumb in mouth and innocent…. She was Rydia again… their Rydia.

Her Rydia.