I was still recovering from a long, exhausting delivery when my husband finally walked into the hospital room and leaned over our newborn daughter.

Daniel suddenly stood up.

“Rebecca, please.”

But she shook her head.

“She deserves to know.”

Then Rebecca looked at Emily.

“Does she have the little heart-shaped birthmark behind her left ear?”

My hands began trembling.

I carefully turned Emily’s head.

There it was.

A tiny, reddish mark shaped almost like a heart.

Daniel covered his mouth and began crying.

“How did you know?” I whispered.

Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.

“Because Daniel had another daughter.”

My heart seemed to stop.

“What?”

“Her name was Grace. She was only three years old when we lost her.”

I stared at my husband.

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“You had a child before me?”

Daniel nodded through his tears.

“Before we met, I was married. My little girl became seriously ill. We tried everything, but she didn’t survive.”

He struggled to continue.

“Her mother and I separated afterward. I couldn’t even speak Grace’s name without falling apart.”

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