For several seconds, I could not hear anything except the refrigerator humming behind me.
My mother stood beside the kitchen table.
Aunt Rebecca sat completely still.
Vanessa was upstairs getting dressed.
And one sentence had just rearranged five years of my life.
“Elena was pregnant?”
My mother looked toward the window.
“Yes.”
“With my child?”
“I assumed so.”
“You assumed?”
Her mouth tightened.
“She said the baby was yours.”
I pushed my chair backward.
The legs scraped against the tile.
“When?”
“Three weeks after the divorce.”
“And you sent her away?”
Patricia folded her arms.
“You were leaving for Canada.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“You were finally moving forward.”
“Mom.”
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
“Did you tell Elena not to contact me?”
She did not answer.
Aunt Rebecca looked down.
That told me enough.
I stood.
“Did you?”
Patricia finally looked at me.
“Yes.”
The room seemed smaller.
“What exactly did you say?”
“She was emotional.”
“What did you say?”
My mother exhaled.
“I told her you wanted a clean break.”
I stared at her.
“You told her that?”
“You did want a clean break.”
“I wanted a divorce.”
“You were fighting constantly.”
“That did not give you permission to hide my child from me.”
Patricia flinched.
“We didn’t know whether the pregnancy would even continue.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the sentence was so monstrous in its convenience.
“So you decided I shouldn’t know until what?”
She said nothing.
“Until there was a baby?”
Silence.
“Until Elena begged enough?”
Nothing.
“Until I left the country and it became easier for everyone to pretend?”
Aunt Rebecca stood.
“Adrian.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew?”
Her eyes filled with shame.
“Not immediately.”
“When did you know?”
“A few months later.”
“And you said nothing for five years.”
“I thought your mother had handled it.”
“Handled it?”
Rebecca looked toward Patricia.
“I was told Elena lost the baby.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
My mother closed her eyes.
Aunt Rebecca continued.
“Patricia told me there had been complications.”
I looked at my mother.
“Did Elena lose the baby?”
Patricia did not answer.
I walked toward her.
“Did she?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer was worse.
“You don’t know?”
“She stopped coming.”
“Because you told her I didn’t want her.”
Patricia’s voice rose.
“You were miserable with that woman!”
“That woman was my wife for seven years.”
“And you divorced her.”
“That does not erase a pregnancy.”
My hands were shaking.
I walked away before I said something I could not take back.
