I touched the photograph. For the first time, I saw the beginning of my life as it had really been.
“Did Dad ever try to help?”
Mom looked at me.
“He drove me to Irene’s house once. They wouldn’t let us in. After that, he said we had to accept it. He never wanted you to know.”
“And you listened to him for the rest of his life. Then 14 years after he died, you still didn’t tell me.”
“I kept thinking I’d missed the right moment.”
“There was no right moment,” I said. “There was only the truth.”
She sat on the bed, holding a little knitted cap.
Then she took a deep breath.
“When Claire contacted me, I thought I finally had a chance to put it right. Then she asked whether you knew. I couldn’t say the words.”
I wanted to comfort her. I also wanted to walk out and never hear another explanation.
