Her words made me think.
During our 53 years together, Robert had stood beside me when we lost our first child. When I underwent surgery. When my mother died. When we nearly lost our home because of debt.
But none of that erased his secret.
One evening, I sat down beside him.
“Robert, I can’t pretend that none of this happened.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“But I want to understand the years you’ve kept hidden from me. I want to see all the letters, speak to the family of the lawyer who handled the case, and finally learn the whole story of my father and sister.”
“I’ll help you,” he said.
Together, we began gathering the old documents.
A few weeks later, the lawyer’s daughter gave us a small envelope that had been kept in her father’s archives for years.
My name was written on it.
