She appreciated that he didn't press, more than she could say. Somehow just saying the words aloud, making them real after so long keeping them secret was more freeing than she could have imagined. When she'd come here, she'd thought about Amanda all the time. As time went by, she became this treasured memory, tucked away, and brought out on special occasions, when Lydia was alone, when she could remember, or cry, or wish her well, without arousing comment. Every year on her birthday she lit a candle for her, but that was her only small ritual.

For a few moments she just sat, tucking her feet under her and curling into him a little bit. She couldn't just leave it hanging there like that, though, so, finally, she went on. "I was fifteen when I got pregnant. Sixteen when she was born." He probably could have done the math and figured out it was something like that, given how old she'd been when she got here, but. "I'd run away from home with this boy. Things were...I wanted to get away, and I thought he loved me. Or...I wanted to believe he did. But when we found out I was pregnant, all he wanted to do was run. I went back home, but my dad kicked me out after a few weeks. So, I went to my sister. She's seven years older than me. Normal. Married. Lives in the suburbs. Her husbands got a good job. But she can't have kids. So when Amanda was born...I could tell how much they wanted her. They thought I was just a screw up. Hell...I'd run away, dropped out of school, gotten knocked up, all before I was old enough to drive, so." She shrugged. "They could give her everything I couldn't. So, I left her with them, and I ran again, and a few months later, I ended up here."