Douglas’s expression became pained.
“I loved her. Not the way I loved you. But she was good to me, and she was the mother of my child. I tried to become the husband she needed.”
A hollow ache spread beneath my ribs.
“Did she know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“No. Not everything.”
He looked at the letter again.
“Elaine knew I had loved someone before her. She knew I had kept a promise with that person. She didn’t know about the ring. She didn’t know I wrote you letters for months after I left. She didn’t know how many times I drove past the road to your house and couldn’t make myself turn in.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because your mother answered the door once.”
I frowned.
“My mother?”
Douglas nodded.
“It was about six months after I left. I came home for Thanksgiving. I had a letter in my pocket. I wanted to see you. Your mother opened the door.”
