“Because my family stopped speaking about her when I was seventeen.”
He told me Lily was six years older than him.
When James was a teenager, Lily disappeared after a huge fight with their father.
His parents told everyone she had chosen another life and wanted nothing to do with the family.
Years passed.
James tried to find her several times.
Then, shortly before we met, Lily contacted him.
Only once.
“She made me promise not to tell Mom and Dad where she was.”
“Why?”
James hesitated.
“She was afraid of our father.”
That answer raised ten more questions, but before I could ask them, he continued.
“She disappeared again. I hadn’t heard from her in almost twelve years.”
“Until now.”
He nodded.
“This morning, the hospital called.”
I looked through the glass toward the bassinet.
“Why would a hospital call you?”
James reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded envelope.
“Because Lily gave them my name.”
My hands suddenly felt cold.
“Where is she?”
James didn’t answer immediately.
That was when I knew.
“No.”
His eyes filled again.
“She died yesterday.”
I covered my mouth.
The hallway seemed to tilt beneath me.
“She had complications after giving birth. There was nothing they could do.”
I looked at the tiny baby through the glass.
“And the father?”
“No one knows.”
“Family?”
“Just me.”
James handed me the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Not his.
Mine.
I looked up sharply.
“She wrote to me?”
James nodded.
“She knew about you. About the boys. About everything.”
With shaking fingers, I opened it.
