Why a dead woman I never met knew my father.
She picked it up.
Her face changed.
“You know something.”
“Sophie…”
“His name is Noah. His mother was Grace.”
Do you know this boy?
Mom went still.
The picture slipped from her fingers.
I thought that look had told me everything.
By the end of the night, I’d learn how wrong I was.
“You knew Grace.”
“No.”
His mother was Grace.
“You knew the name.”
She stared at the table. “I knew of her.”
“How?”
“Through your father.”
“What does that mean?”
I’d learn how wrong I was.
“Sophie, some things should stay in the past.”
“Not when the past just walked into my house hungry.”
She closed her eyes.
“Did Dad know Grace?”
“Yes.”
Through your father.
“How?”
“There was a woman named Linda.”
“Grace’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“How well did Dad know her?”
Mom’s jaw tightened. “He had an affair.”
