I worked evenings at a diner because we couldn't afford an employee.
We shared everything.
At least, I thought we did.
I looked at Nathan.
"Who was she?"
He understood immediately.
"My mother?"
I nodded.
"Her name was Evelyn Bell."
The name meant nothing.
That almost made it worse.
Forty-six years of marriage memories had suddenly been invaded by a stranger whose name I had never heard.
"Did she know he was married?"
Nathan hesitated.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
A terrible silence settled between us.
Then I asked the question that frightened me most.
"Did Thomas know about you?"
Nathan looked toward the photograph.
"From the beginning."
Something inside my chest cracked.
All those years.
All those Christmas mornings.
All those anniversaries.
All those quiet evenings when Thomas held my hand and told me I was the only woman he had ever truly loved.
He had known.
He had always known.
