He began to cry.
For the first time in forty-five years, I saw my husband completely broken.
“Yes, sweetheart. But not in the way you think.”
Michael interrupted.
“Dad, stop hiding it.”
I pressed a hand against my chest.
“Hiding what?”
With trembling hands, Robert reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope.
Inside was an old letter.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It was my mother’s.
My mother had died twenty years earlier.
I unfolded the letter.
The very first line read:
“Robert, if you truly love my daughter, never tell her what happened on the day she was born.”
I looked up at my husband.
“What does this mean?”
He swallowed hard.
“Margaret, your mother kept a secret from you your entire life. And I promised her I would never reveal it.”
It turned out that shortly after I was born, my mother had become seriously ill, and my family had been unable to care for me for some time.
