Carol sat beside me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I looked at her.
She had kept Daniel’s secret through the baby shower, the nursery painting, his death, the twins’ birth, every 2:00 a.m. bottle, and their entire first year.
I was still angry.
A beautiful letter did not erase Daniel’s decision.
Carol’s loyalty to her son did not make the secret fair.
But Carol had also spent the past year helping me raise the children he never got to hold.
“I wish you’d told me,” I said.
“I know.”
“I may wish that for a long time.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“But I’m glad they have these.”
We looked at the envelopes.
“So am I.”
A few days later, Carol told the relatives who had been closest to Daniel what she had kept from me.
She did not excuse herself.
She simply told them that Daniel had asked for secrecy and that she had agreed.
