"That's a really selfish reason," she said.
"Yes."
"She waited for you. Every year. She'd ask Mr. Mercer. I saw her do it. I used to stand by the door and pretend not to hear."
"I know. He told me."
"She was dying," Claire said, and now her voice broke, all at once, like ice on a pond. "Last year. In August. She could barely walk up those stairs. She had to stop on the landing. And she still asked him. She still asked if you'd come in." She pressed the heel of her hand against her eye. "And I hated you. I hated you so much. And then she died and I went and got my birth certificate anyway, and I don't even know why, because I had a mother, I had the best mother, I don't need another one."
"I'm not asking to be your mother," Natalie said. "I would never ask that. She was your mother."