I asked whether Alexander knew she had spoken to me.
“I haven’t told him,” Daniel said. “Would you like me to?”
“Not yet.”
The days moved on.
My body grew heavier, and the baby’s movements became more forceful.
I learned to sleep with pillows arranged around me and to keep the specialist’s number beside the bed.
The house beside the lake became less like a refuge from my marriage and more like the life I was
building outside it.
I painted the nursery a warm cream color and hung my mother’s old photograph on the wall.
I kept the letter in a box with the rest of her papers.
The family’s hidden history no longer seemed like a key that would unlock my marriage.
It was part of my life, but it was not the answer to everything.
Alexander came to the next appointment, then waited while I finished speaking to the nurse.
