“My husband’s father had another son.”
The room became silent.
Pressure built inside my chest.
“What are you saying?”
“Marcus told me once.”
Her voice shook.
“His father had a child before he married Marcus’s mother. The family never acknowledged him.”
I stared in disbelief.
“No.”
Claire continued.
“That child’s mother was named Laura.”
My knees almost gave way.
Laura was my mother’s name.
Eleanor whispered:
“Christopher.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Claire asked when I’d been born.
I told her.
She covered her mouth.
“That’s the same year.”
I backed away from the table.
“No. This is ridiculous.”
Yet memories began surfacing.
My mother crying whenever I asked about my biological father.
Birthday cards arriving without return addresses until I was seven.
A photograph I’d once found showing her beside a dark-haired young man near a lake.
She’d torn the picture in half when she discovered me holding it.
