“Your father,” I whispered. “Your father took me there.”
Michael stepped back as though I had struck him.
“What?”
“The secret has something to do with your father. But not in the way you’re thinking.”
Dr. Harris gently interrupted us.
“Before we discuss the past, I want to make one thing clear. We cannot assume the mass we see today is the same abnormality mentioned in that old record. We need to investigate the current problem independently.”
I nodded.
But the moment she mentioned the old clinic, I knew the past was no longer going to remain buried.
And I knew that, when the truth finally came out, my children would never look at their father—or me—in quite the same way again.
Fourteen years earlier, I had been sixty-five.
Samuel was sixty-eight.
We had been married for fifty-three years, and although we had our disagreements, I had always believed that I knew my husband better than anyone else in the world.
