Six words were written across the back in Richard’s handwriting.
“Forgive me, Rose. She can’t know.”
My knees gave out.
I hit the garage floor.
For several minutes, I simply sat there with the photograph in my hands.
Who was Rose?
Why had Richard lied about her for twenty years?
And why was she holding our daughter?
I searched everything hidden behind that loose panel.
Old receipts.
Business cards.
A small address book.
I opened it with trembling hands.
Near the back, I found one name.
Rose.
And beside it was an old phone number.
I stared at the number for several seconds.
I knew I shouldn’t call.
I knew I should wait for Richard.
I knew there were probably explanations I couldn’t imagine.
But my finger was already pressing the call button.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Then an older woman’s voice answered.
“Hello?”
My throat tightened.
“Is this Rose?”
Silence.
Then she whispered one word.
“Richard?”
My stomach twisted.
“Is that really you?”
I gripped the phone harder.
“This isn’t Richard.”
Another pause.
“I’m his wife.”
I heard her inhale sharply.
Then she began crying.
Not quiet tears.
Deep, broken sobs that sounded as though they had been held back for years.
Finally, she whispered:
“You finally found me.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What?”
“I thought this day would never come.”
“Who are you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Why do I have a picture of you holding Claire?”
Nothing.
“What did Richard do?”
Rose cried harder.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
She gave me the address of a diner in the next town.
“Come alone.”
I didn’t wait for Richard to get home from work.
I grabbed my keys and drove.
My hands were shaking so badly that I missed the turn twice.
Every possible explanation ran through my mind.
An affair.
A secret relationship.
A former girlfriend.
A woman Richard had loved before me.
Maybe a child.
Maybe another family.
Maybe something much worse.
And then there was Claire.
Why was Rose holding my daughter as a newborn?
What had happened before we adopted her?
What had Richard known?
What had he kept from me?
When I finally reached the diner, Rose was already sitting in the last booth near the window.
She had silver hair.
Trembling fingers wrapped around a coffee cup.
Her shoulders were slightly hunched.
She looked older than I had expected.
But the moment I saw her face, I knew.
She was the woman tattooed over my husband’s heart.
I slid into the booth across from her.
She looked at me.
“You’re Evelyn.”
“And you’re the woman on my husband’s chest.”
Her face crumpled.
