Questioning the past.
Recent events have turned me from someone who didn’t care a jot about my past to someone who is curious about relatives’ motives.
I have left it too late to question anyone who was there but I have recently seen correspondence which makes me think I was misled as a child.
Now I have to decide if I am the kind of person who ferrets out the truth, even if it is unpleasant, or do I thank fate for the way I was kept in ignorance and forget it?
Can’t concentrate on writing until this is sorted.