“Yes.”
“And you never remarried after his death?”
“No.”
“Then how do you explain the birth of this child?”
Whispers spread through the courtroom. I held Emily more tightly in my arms.
“I’m prepared to explain everything, but only when the other party arrives.”
“What other party?” the judge asked.
I looked toward the door. It was still closed.
I had been promised that he would come that morning. But the hearing had already been underway for forty minutes, and
his seat remained empty. For the first time, fear tightened around my heart. Had my children somehow stopped him?
Had he changed his mind at the last moment? Susan’s lawyer placed a photograph on the table.
It had been taken at my husband George’s funeral. I was only thirty-three years old, wearing a black dress and standing
beside a closed coffin.
“Mrs. Miller,” the lawyer continued, “are you claiming that this newborn’s father is a man who was buried nearly half a century ago?”
