But she did not say anything else.
“I can’t tell you the rest tonight.”
That evening, Dad came home and immediately noticed that something was wrong.
I could not look him in the eye.
Mom was unusually quiet too.
The next morning, I heard voices coming from their bedroom.
“We’ve hidden this for too long,” Dad said.
“I was ashamed,” Mom whispered.
“You never had anything to be ashamed of.”
A few minutes later, Mom called me into the room.
There was an old wooden box sitting on the table.
Dad stood near the window.
Mom opened the box.
Inside were old photographs.
The first one had been taken in a hospital.
Mom looked very young.
Both of her arms were covered in bandages.
Beside her sat Dad, also young, exhausted, asleep in a chair.
I looked at them in confusion.
Then Mom slowly rolled up her sleeve.
