Her reply came twenty minutes later.
“You have a lot of nerve contacting me after what your son did.”
I wrote back.
I read it twice.
Then I wrote back.
“Please. I think there are things neither of us knows.”
She agreed to meet that afternoon.
Rachel was already sitting in the corner of the café when I arrived. Older, of course, but unmistakably the same woman from Daniel’s photographs.
She didn’t smile.
My throat tightened.
“You really didn’t know about me?”
“No.”
“Or my son?”
My throat tightened.
“No.”
She looked away.
“I’m not lying.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I’m not lying.”
Rachel folded her arms.
“Daniel knew I was pregnant. He knew everything. We were planning for the baby together.”
“I saw the pictures.”
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