Chapter 2: The Photograph on the Back
The silence after my father's words was unbearable.
I looked at Andrew.
He had gone completely still.
"What family?" I asked.
"Dad, what are you talking about?"
My father didn't look at me.
He kept his eyes fixed on Andrew.
"You know exactly what I mean," he said.
Andrew's jaw tightened.
"Sir, I think you should explain yourself."
"I think YOU should explain yourself." Dad's voice dropped low.
"To your wife."
My heart was hammering.
I turned to Andrew.
"What is he talking about?
Do you know my father?"
Andrew said nothing for a long moment.
Then, quietly — too quietly — he said, "Where did you hear this?"
Not a denial.
Not confusion.
Just — *where did you hear this.*
My father reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He held it out toward me, not Andrew.
"A woman came to my office three days ago," he said.
"She was looking for him."
My hand was shaking as I took it.
It was a photograph.
A woman I didn't recognize, holding a baby I had never seen.
And on the back, in handwriting I didn't know, was Andrew's full name and our address.
Andrew looked at the photo and closed his eyes.
"I can explain," he said.
But my father was already turning to leave.
"Ask him who she is," he said.
"And ask him why she's been searching for him for two years."
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What Andrew said next made my legs give out.
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The truth was nothing like I imagined.
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