He made me promise —”
“You knew,” I said again.
“For two years.
While I was in this house with him.
While I was pregnant.”
“He was going to tell you.
He kept saying he was going to find the right time —”
“There is no right time for this.”
“I know that.
I told him that.”
“But you kept his secret anyway.”
She didn’t answer immediately.
I could hear her breathing.
“He was my son,” she finally said.
“He was sick and he was scared and I didn’t know how to —”
“I understand that he was your son.” My voice came out flat and even, which was the only way I could manage it.
“I need you to understand that he was my husband.”
I ended the call.
I sat for a long time after that.
The letter was still on the table.
The photograph was beside it, Daniel’s squinting face catching the kitchen light.
