“I chose your father,” Mom whispered. “I chose our family. And I made Ray promise he would never tell Kayla the truth.”
She stared down at her coffee.
“I thought I was protecting everyone.”
I couldn’t look at her.
My entire childhood seemed to be rearranging itself in my head.
Dad had been the man who taught Kayla to ride a bike, who attended her games, who helped her with homework, and who loved her without hesitation.
Now I was being told that another man had watched from the shadows for years, loving the same little girl without being allowed to call her his daughter.
Then Ray spoke.
“Frank knew, Linda.”
Mom’s coffee cup slipped from her fingers.
She stared at him.
“What?”
“Six years ago. About a month before he died, Frank came to my shop wearing his church clothes.”
Ray rubbed his hands together, looking down at the table.
