“Go ahead,” Anna said softly.

“It was always meant for you.”

I picked it up.

The flap had already been opened long ago, carefully, so the paper wasn’t torn.

I slid the letter out.

Two pages, folded in thirds, written in Carol’s neat, careful hand.

I read the first line and had to set it down.

“Take your time,” Anna said.

She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup and looked at the window.

I picked it up again.

*Dear Anna,*

*I am writing this because I cannot live with what I did without at least trying to explain it.

I don’t expect your forgiveness.

I’m not sure I deserve it.*

*When you came to the door that day, I knew exactly who you were.

James had talked about you.

Not often, but enough.

I could see it in his face whenever your name came up — something that wasn’t there when he talked about anything else.*

*I told you he had moved on because I was afraid.

I had loved James for two years by then, and I believed — I still believe — that he loved me too.

But I was terrified that if he saw you again, that would change.

So I lied.

I told you he was engaged to someone else.

I watched you walk back down that path, and I closed the door, and I never told him you had come.*

*Six months later I married him.*

*I have thought about that morning almost every day since.*

I had to stop again.

My hands were shaking so badly the paper was trembling.

“James,” Anna said quietly.

“Give me a minute,” I said.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

Long enough for the coffee to go cold.

When I finally looked up, Anna was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read — not pity, not anger.

Something older than both.

“Did you know?” I asked.

“When you read this, did you know she married me?”

“Not right away.

I found out a few years later.

A mutual friend mentioned it.” She paused.

“I thought about writing to you.

More than once.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She looked at her cup.

“Because what would I have said?

That your wife had lied to keep us apart?

You were already married.

You might have had children by then.

What good would it have done?”

“I had a right to know,” I said.

The words came out harder than I intended.

“Yes,” Anna said simply.

“You did.”

I looked back at the letter.

There was still a second page.

*I am writing this now because I think you deserve to know the truth, even if it comes too late to change anything.

I don’t know if you ever married.

I hope you found someone who made you happy.

I hope you built a good life.*

*But there is one more thing I have to tell you.

Something I kept from James as well.

Something that has weighed on me far longer than the lie at the door.*

*When you came to find him that day, you were not alone in your reasons.*

*You were pregnant.*

The letter dropped from my hands.

Anna didn’t move to pick it up.

“Is it true?” I said.

My voice came out as almost nothing.

“Yes,” she said.

Chapter 4: The Child I Never Knew About

The kitchen was very quiet.

Outside, a car passed slowly on the street.

A dog barked twice somewhere down the block.

Inside, neither of us moved.

“You were pregnant,” I said again.

Not a question this time.

Just the words, out loud, because they didn’t feel real yet.

“Yes.”

“And Carol knew.”

Anna looked at me steadily.

“I don’t know exactly what I said at the door that day.

I was nervous.

I may have told her I needed to speak with you urgently.

I may have said more than that.

I honestly don’t remember every word.” She paused.

“But she sent me that letter six months later.

So she knew enough to feel guilty about it.”

I pushed back from the table and stood up.

I needed to move.

I walked to the window and stood there with my back to her.

“What happened?” I said.

“With the baby.”

“I had her,” Anna said.

“I went home to my mother’s house.

I had her there.”

I turned around.

“A girl,” I said.

“A girl.” Anna’s voice was steady, but her hands tightened around the cup.

“I named her Claire.”

The name landed like something physical.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She’s forty years old,” Anna said.

“She lives about twenty minutes from here.

She has two children of her own.” A pause.

“Your grandchildren, James.

If you want to think of them that way.”

I sat back down because I didn’t trust my legs anymore.

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