I snatched the envelope.
Jack’s handwriting was on the first page.
‘Claire,
I’m sorry you’re learning this without me.
There’s a five-year-old boy named Ethan.
You don’t owe him anything. If you want to stop here, stop.
But if you find him, you’ll understand why I couldn’t walk away.
I’m sorry I never told you.’
I read it twice.
“Ethan who?”
Mara said nothing.
“Is Ethan your son?”
“No.”
“Were you sleeping with Jack?”
“No.”
“Then who is he?”
“I can’t tell you.”
I actually laughed.
“You come to a pregnant widow’s house with a letter from her dead husband telling her to find a five-year-old boy, and you can’t tell me who he is?”
“Jack wanted you to decide whether to keep looking.”
“Why?”
“Because once you know, you can’t unknow it.”
“Stop talking like you’re in a movie.”