Chapter 2: The Name She Wasn't Supposed to Say
She was still standing there, chest heaving, hand raised like she'd been mid-knock.
I held out the phone.
"Who are you?
And what really happened?"
She looked past me toward my husband, who had followed down the aisle.
"Don't," he said quietly.
One word.
Like a warning.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she looked at me.
"My name is Rachel.
And your husband and I weren't just colleagues."
The air left my lungs.
"How long?"
"It's not what you think—"
"How long?"
She hesitated.
"It ended three years ago.
But that's not why your daughter contacted me."
I turned to my husband.
His jaw was tight.
He wasn't denying it.
"Three years ago," I said slowly.
"That's when she got sick."
No one spoke.
My daughter had spent four months in hospital that year.
I had barely slept.
My husband had been "working late" almost every night.
Rachel's expression shifted.
Something close to guilt.
"She found out," Rachel said.
"Your daughter.
She saw something she wasn't supposed to see.
And she's been carrying it alone ever since."
My hands were shaking.
"What did she see?"
Rachel opened her mouth.
My husband stepped forward.
"Rachel.
Don't."
She stopped.
And the look on his face told me the worst was still coming.
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What my daughter witnessed that year is the part that will break your heart.
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