It took years for Michael to put all the pieces together.
The man who may or may not be his father, and yet still loved him with every fibre of his heart; the woman he'd been taught to call mother, even if she seemed to resent him sometimes. Then there was Edward Campion, and Valentine, and a little boy who called Christopher his father; Michael supposed that made him his brother, though nobody really talked about that.
Sylvia Tietjens was all fire, while Christopher was like the Groby tree; in the end, he'd chosen the gentle breeze over the thunderstorm.