I placed the photograph on the table between us.
“Start talking.”
Rose stared at the photograph.
Then she looked back at me.
Her mouth opened.
But before she could say a word, the bell above the diner door rang.
Rose’s eyes suddenly moved past my shoulder.
All the color drained from her face.
I turned around.
Someone was walking directly toward our booth.
And when I saw who it was, I nearly fainted.
Because I recognized that face too.
It was Richard.
My husband.
He stopped when he saw Rose sitting across from me.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Then Richard looked at the photograph on the table.
His face went completely white.
He slowly walked toward us.
Rose looked down.
I looked at Richard.
“You knew I’d find her.”
He didn’t answer.
“Didn’t you?”
Richard pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.
His hands were trembling.
“I never wanted you to find out like this.”
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny about it.
“How else was I supposed to find out?”
He looked at Rose.
Then at me.
Finally, he reached inside his jacket.
He took out a worn piece of paper.
He placed it on the table.
“Before I explain,” he said quietly, “you need to read this.”
I unfolded the note.
It was old.
The paper had been folded so many times that the edges were soft.
The handwriting wasn’t Richard’s.
It was Rose’s.
There was a single request written across the page.
A promise she had once asked Richard to make.
Claire should always know she was wanted.
