For several seconds, I couldn't move.
I stared at the photograph beside Mr. Harrison's chair.
It showed Thomas standing next to a younger man outside our family's original store.
Thomas had one arm around the man's shoulders.
Both were smiling.
I recognized the younger man immediately.
Because he was sitting directly across from me.
I slowly raised my eyes.
"Mr. Harrison?"
He lowered his head.
"My name is Nathan Harrison, Margaret."
My mouth went dry.
"And Thomas was my father."
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the edges of my chair.
"No."
Nathan said nothing.
"That's impossible."
He gently pushed the birth certificate toward me.
I looked down again.
The date was unmistakable.
September 14, 1980.
Thomas and I had married in June 1978.
Two years.
For two years, I had believed we were building a beautiful life together.
We had been living in a tiny apartment above a laundromat.
Thomas worked sixteen-hour days trying to save his struggling hardware store.
