I turned toward her.
She looked terrified of me.
That mattered.
She had Michael’s eyes.
I hated noticing.
But she had not chosen those eyes.
She had not chosen Susan.
She had not chosen my husband.
I forced myself to separate her from them.
“What were you told growing up?”
Emily looked at Susan first.
“Mom told me my biological father wasn’t part of our lives.”
Susan flinched.
Emily continued.
“Then when I was sixteen, I found an old birthday card in a box. It was from Michael.”
My heartbeat changed.
“A birthday card?”
“He signed it Dad.”
I looked at Susan.
She lowered her eyes.
I laughed once.
It sounded awful.
“So he was her father privately.”
Susan whispered, “Yes.”
“And my husband publicly.”
No answer.
I looked toward the ocean through the glass doors.
The water was bright.
Beautiful.
Completely inappropriate.
I wanted rain.
Thunder.
Some external acknowledgment that reality had broken.
