He had been demanding.
Private.
Disciplined.
I had spent half my life trying to become the kind of man he would have respected.
“What does that have to do with Clara?” I asked.
Mother looked at her.
Clara gave the smallest shake of her head.
Mother ignored it.
“Clara’s mother was named Miriam Reed.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“At university,” Mother continued, “your father and Miriam were together for almost three years. They were very young. They separated before graduation.”
I felt impatient.
“Mother.”
“Bennett, listen.”
So I did.
“After they separated, Miriam discovered she was pregnant.”
The room became utterly still.
I turned toward Clara.
She was crying silently now.
Not openly.
Just tears moving down her cheeks while she stared straight ahead.
My mind rejected the thought before Mother said it.
Then she said it anyway.
“Clara is your father’s daughter.”
For a moment I heard nothing.
