The Story of the Lost Child (Neapolitan Novels Book 4)

Maybe we have to become almost old and have grown children, as I have, to understand our own parents and, reflected in them, something more about ourselves. Now, suddenly, I seem to comprehend the abyss of solitude I would fall into if I could no longer telephone my mother and tell her that Michele and the children are fine and ate happily.

You have an extraordinary mother, Father often said, as though she was better than all the others. A mother is not a friend, Anouk liked to say, proud of this distinction. What happened to daughters like us? Would we flee our families, wanting to be far away, wishing to carve out a life that was ours alone, far removed from where we came from? Or w