She covered her mouth.
“Please don’t say that.”
“Then tell me what I should say!”
Emily began to cry.
“I can’t explain it yet.”
I stood up so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor.
“You can’t explain it? You are twenty-four years old. You are not a child. If you have done something terrible, at least have the courage to tell me.”
She looked up at me, tears running down her face.
“We haven’t done what you think.”
“Then why are you hiding it?”
She shook her head.
“Because we were afraid.”
“Of what? Me?”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she whispered, “Of losing you.”
I stared at her.
Before I could respond, Michael appeared in the doorway.
Emily stood up.
“Dad, I told you we should have told her sooner.”
Michael closed his eyes.
That single sentence hurt more than the photograph.
They had discussed me. They had planned what to say. They had decided together how long to keep me in the dark.
