Hannah’s face changed.
“Everybody knew?”
“Most of the family.”
Her voice cracked.
“Except me.”
I stood.
“Hannah—”
“Don’t.”
She backed away.
For the first time, anger replaced shock.
“You all got to know her.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“We lost her too quickly.”
“But you knew she existed.”
That silenced me.
“You got to say her name.”
I started crying.
“Not enough.”
“You chose that too.”
Yes.
I had.
Hannah turned to Daniel.
“And you?”
He didn’t defend himself.
“I should’ve told you.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because every time I tried, your mother looked like she was losing Rosie all over again.”
I closed my eyes.
“And I loved your mother more than I trusted my own judgment.”
Hannah stared at him.
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“No.”
“Were you ever going to tell me if today hadn’t happened?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Dad.”
“I mean it.”
He looked at the chest.
“I finished the eighteenth compartment last night.”
Then he said:
“I wasn’t writing nineteen.”
Something shifted in Hannah’s face.
Daniel continued.
“I promised myself eighteen years was the limit. You were going to know today whether your mother agreed or not.”
I looked at him.
For once, I wasn’t angry.
