Daniel refused to discuss it.
“She’s gone, Mom. Stop asking questions.”
For two years, he became more distant. He stopped visiting and barely answered my calls.
I assumed he was heartbroken.
Then, last Thursday, he died in a car accident.
I was devastated. Greg and I spent that night looking through childhood photographs, struggling to accept that our only son was gone.
The following morning, someone knocked on my door.
I opened it and nearly collapsed.
Sophie stood on my porch, thinner and exhausted.
“Sophie? Where have you been?”
She glanced nervously behind her.
“Now I can tell you everything. You deserve to know the truth. Can I come inside?”
I stepped aside.
Sophie sat on our couch, clutching her handbag.
“Daniel knew why I left,” she said.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He knew I was planning to leave him. He knew before the wedding was over.”
“That’s impossible. He called me crying the next morning.”
