“Dad had a son before he met Mom. Nobody talked about him.”
“Why?”
Eleanor answered this time.
“Because Thomas had problems.”
“What kind?”
“He struggled.”
“With what?”
She hesitated.
Daniel spoke.
“Everything.”
That answer told me nothing.
I turned back to the folder.
One of the letters had been written by hand.
The date was seven years earlier.
Daniel’s name was on the envelope.
I unfolded it.
The handwriting was uneven.
I read the first line.
Daniel, if anything happens to me, I need you to promise Noah won’t end up with the state.
I stopped.
My eyes moved slowly toward him.
“Thomas is dead?”
Daniel nodded.
“Five years.”
The room became very still.
“And Melissa?”
“Noah’s mother.”
I stared at him.
“Then why are you paying for their house?”
“Because Thomas asked me to take care of them.”
“With our money.”
His face tightened.
“I tried to handle it myself.”
“By lying.”
“Yes.”
At least he admitted it.
I looked through the documents again.
The money began making more sense.
Mortgage payments.
Repairs.
School fees.
Medical bills.
Small transfers.
Large transfers.
Too many details to absorb at once.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
Daniel’s face changed.
“Because Mom didn’t want anyone to know about Thomas.”
I looked at Eleanor.
She stared at the floor.
Daniel continued.
“And because I thought you’d tell me it wasn’t our responsibility.”
“You never gave me the chance.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I closed the folder.
