Hannah’s voice shook as she began to read. “Dear Hannah, this china belonged to my mother, who bought it in 1961 and never used it once. I have kept it wrapped for decades, waiting for the right person.” She looked up at me, then down again. Across the table, Courtney gripped the back of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white.

Hannah read on. “Your mother has spent five years searching for these plates. I could have ended her search long ago. I chose not to, and today you will learn why.” Hannah’s voice dropped to a whisper, and her eyes filled with tears. Brian’s fork fell against his plate, and nobody in the room breathed. Then Hannah read one more sentence, the one about what I overheard on the night before Brian’s wedding, and Courtney said, in a thin, cracked voice, “Please, stop.”