I stared at Joanna on the screen.
Twenty-five.
Maybe younger.
Smiling at the man I would eventually marry.
She wasn’t an ex-wife.
She hadn’t left him.
He hadn’t left her.
Their relationship had simply stopped because her life did.
I turned toward Daniel.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked down.
“I wanted to.”
“When?”
“When we started getting serious.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“When we got engaged?”
“I almost did.”
“Almost?”
He nodded.
“What about before our wedding?”
Silence.
“After?”
Another silence.
“When we had our first child?”
Nothing.
“Our second?”
His face crumpled.
“Phoebe—”
“Twenty-two years.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
I stood.
“You sat at family dinners while your brothers made jokes I didn’t understand.”
“I should have stopped them.”
“You laughed.”
“I know.”
“You let me laugh too.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
I thought about the pendant.
