Chapter 2: The Hole in the Flower Bed
I pushed open the back door.
"Greg."
He spun around.
The blanket pressed tight against his chest.
"Laura." His voice cracked.
"Go back inside."
"What is that?"
He turned away.
His shoulders were shaking.
"Greg.
What is in that blanket?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped off the porch onto the cold grass.
The hole he'd dug was small.
Shallow.
Lined with the kind of care you'd give something precious.
"Please," he said.
"Not tonight."
"Tell me what you're holding."
He finally turned around.
His face was wet.
I had not seen Greg cry in twenty years.
Not at his mother's funeral.
Not the night we almost lost the house.
Not once.
He looked down at the bundle in his arms.
"She didn't make it," he whispered.
"She?"
He slowly pulled back one corner of the blanket.
I stopped breathing.
Then I heard footsteps on the porch behind me.
A voice I didn't recognize said quietly:
"I'm so sorry.
I should have called you both sooner."
I turned around.
A young woman was standing in our doorway.
And she was holding a photograph I had never seen before.
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*What Greg was hiding — and who that young woman is — will change everything you thought you knew.
Click the link below to read the full story.*
