I’d never seen Mark look ashamed of anything.
“She wasn’t actually his wife.”
I stared at him.
“Then why have you called me the second wife for twenty years?”
Mark looked toward the restaurant.
Then pulled out his phone.
His fingers moved across the screen.
“Mom sent us some old pictures a few months ago.”
He found one.
Then handed me the phone.
Daniel was standing in the photograph.
Young Daniel.
Maybe twenty-five.
Thinner.
More hair.
A nervous smile.
Beside him stood a young woman.
She was wearing a wedding dress.Rent Evening Dresses
My stomach dropped.
But that wasn’t what made my hands begin shaking.
Around her neck was a small gold pendant.
I knew that pendant.
I had worn it hundreds of times.
Daniel gave it to me on our first anniversary.
I looked at Mark.
“Who is she?”
His face tightened.
“You need to ask Daniel.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Her name was Joanna.”
“Was she his wife?”
“No.”
“His fiancée?”
Mark said nothing.
That was answer enough.
I held up the phone.
“Why is she wearing my necklace?”
Mark looked sick.
“Ask Daniel what happened in 1994.”
I marched back inside.
Daniel was no longer at the table.
Neither was his mother.
By the time I reached home, his car was already there.
The front door was unlocked.
“Daniel?”
Nothing.
I went upstairs.
Our bedroom was empty.
Then I noticed the closet.
The door stood open.
So did the small safe in the back corner.Explore Name Books
A safe Daniel had told me years earlier no longer worked.
My heart started pounding.
Inside were old papers.
A few photographs.
And one VHS cassette.
I picked it up.
There was handwriting on the label.
JUNE 18, 1994.
Nothing else.
I carried it downstairs.
Daniel’s mother was standing in our living room.
I hadn’t even heard her come in.
The moment she saw what was in my hand, she screamed.
“Don’t!”
I froze.
She crossed the room and grabbed my arm.
“Don’t watch that.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
Her face had gone pale.
“Not alone.”
That frightened me more than anything else that night.
“Where is Daniel?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“He left.”
“Then you tell me.”
She shook her head.
“It isn’t my story.”
Something inside me snapped.
“For twenty-two years, I’ve been married to your son.”
