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1944
Sugar knelt beside her dying husband and patted his legs, grotesquely swollen by the kidney disease that now, untreated by the Japanese in the prison camp, ravaged him.
“I beg you, on your deathbed, tell me the truth,” Sugar said, looking at David sleeping in the corner. “You are his father. And that was my quilt that I made for our baby wrapped around him when he was found in the bombing, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Alex whispered.
“Who was she?”
“Hee Naut Sey,” Alex said.
“So the servants were truthful. They all knew. No matter.” Sugar whispered. “Our baby now.”