A frightened young woman had been told to bury her child.
Years later, when her daughter came to her frightened and pregnant, she had watched the same door close again.
Not because she did not know the pain.
Because she knew it too well.
Diane touched the back of a chair. “Noah thought if Emma had the baby, the child might be the bridge that brought the truth out. He wanted Margaret to meet the son she lost. He wanted both families to stop hiding.”
My father turned to my mother.
“Is that why you refused Emma’s letters?”
My mother’s lips parted.
For several seconds she said nothing.
Then she nodded.
The answer cut through the room.
My father stood abruptly. “You told me you never received them.”
“I did receive them.”
“All eight?”
She covered her face.
“Yes.”
I stepped back as if she had struck me.
