Nothing came out.
Then David answered.
“Your daughter.”
I actually laughed.
It was one short, shocked sound.
“My what?”
“Carol…”
“I don’t have a daughter.”
Michael crouched in front of me.
“Mom, listen to me.”
“I have three sons.”
“I know.”
“My daughter died.”
Nobody spoke.
Something cold moved through my chest.
I looked from Michael to David.
“My daughter died.”
Michael’s face crumpled.
“Mom… no. She didn’t.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the arms of the chair.
“Don’t.”
“It’s true.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
I turned toward David.
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
And suddenly I understood something even worse.
“You knew.”
“Carol, please.”
“How long?”
He didn’t answer.
“How long have you known?”
“Almost four months.”
I stood so quickly that the chair scraped backward.
“Four months?”
Michael reached for me.
I pulled away.
“You knew too?”
He nodded.
“Longer than Dad.”
I couldn’t breathe properly.
