“No. Absolutely not. Not by blood, not through marriage, not in any way.”
Relief hit so hard that my knees weakened.
I sat on the porch step.
“Then what are you talking about?”
Grandpa looked down at Ivy again.
“Your mother worked for Richard Carter.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She was the nanny for his son.”
My breathing changed.
“Julian?”
Grandpa nodded.
“He was seven.”
“When?”
“You were around four years old.”
I frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
