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We gave her a proper send-off.

I hired a professional choir and a string quartet. The church was full. Flowers in every pew.

I wanted people to see.

The girl who used to curl up in corners, hiding from other children's fists, wishing her mother would come home — she wasn't here anymore.

After the funeral, back in London, I found new messages from Vivian.

She's gone and you didn't tell me? Why?

Stella, I know you hate me. But why did you keep me from seeing my own mother one last time?

Stella. I want to come back and light a candle for her. Please.

I watched her go from hysterical to calm over the course of her messages, read them all the way through, and replied with two words.

You don't deserve to.