Rose had never been my husband’s secret romance.
She had been part of my daughter’s story long before I knew my daughter existed.
She had been there when Claire was tiny and vulnerable.
She had rocked her through painful procedures.
Celebrated every ounce she gained.
Stayed beside her when others couldn’t.
And then, when she couldn’t give Claire the life she believed Claire deserved, she let her go.
That wasn’t abandonment.
It was sacrifice.
And perhaps that was why Richard had carried her image over his heart for so long.
Not because he wanted to remember another woman.
But because he wanted to remember what she taught him.
Twenty years ago, I thought my husband had another woman over his heart.
Last month, I finally met her.
And I discovered that she wasn’t a threat to our marriage.
She was part of the reason our family existed at all.
Richard hadn’t tattooed Rose over his heart because he wanted to remember a romance.
