Part 2: Before my husband passed away, he asked me to deliver a sealed letter to a woman I'd never met — after she read the first line, she looked at me and asked, "Did he tell you everything?"

“Yes.”

“He knew.”

“Yes.”

“He watched me hold Emily and call her mine.”

Catherine cried.

“Yes.”

I read the next passage.

Claire woke weak, frightened, and asking for the baby.

When Emily was placed in her arms, Claire smiled.

I had never seen grief disappear from a face before.

I knew I had approximately thirty seconds to tell the truth.

I did not.

Thirty seconds.

A whole life can grow inside thirty seconds of cowardice.

I told myself I would tell her after discharge.

Then after the first pediatric visit.

Then when she was stronger.

Then when Rebecca was safe.

Then when Emily was old enough.

Every delay made the truth harder, so I used the difficulty as justification for another delay.

I cried so hard my ribs hurt.

Catherine sat opposite me with tears running silently down her face.

Then I reached the line that explained why Zane had searched for thirty-two years.