But the pharmacy was nearly forty minutes from our house.

Daniel passed at least six pharmacies between his office and home.

I put the receipt back.

On Thursday afternoon, I was sitting on the nursery floor folding tiny onesies while Kai kicked his legs under the mobile.

Daniel appeared in the doorway.

He was wearing jeans and a gray sweater.

“I have to go back out.”

I looked up.

“To work?”

“Emergency meeting.”

His office required business casual even on Fridays.

Daniel had once driven back home because he’d forgotten a belt.

I looked at his jeans.

“You’re going like that?”

He glanced down.

“It’s informal.”

“How long?”

“Maybe two hours.”

He came over and kissed Kai.

Then Theo.

Then me.

His phone was already in his hand.

“I’ll be back before bedtime.”

I watched him walk downstairs.

A minute later, the garage door opened.

I picked up my phone.

His location disappeared.

I looked at Kai.

Then Theo.

For four months, almost every decision I made had been about them.

When they ate.

When they slept.

Which one needed to be held.

Which one had a fever.

Which load of laundry contained enough clean pajamas to get us through another night.

That afternoon, I made one decision for myself.

I called my sister, Rachel.

“Can you come over?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

She heard something in my voice and didn’t ask why.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

I Followed My Husband

Rachel arrived in eighteen.

I told her only that I needed to run out and that the boys had just eaten.

She looked at me carefully.

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know.”

That was the truth.

Daniel had enough of a head start that I nearly lost him.

I knew the direction he’d taken from our neighborhood, and I knew the route he usually used toward his office.

He wasn’t on it.

I drove toward downtown, checking side streets and trying to convince myself I was behaving irrationally.

Then I saw his SUV three cars ahead of me at a red light.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

He turned west.

Away from his office.

I followed.

Twenty minutes later, we were in a quiet residential area on the edge of town.

Daniel turned through a stone entrance marked Willow Creek Memorial Gardens.

I almost kept driving.

Instead, I turned in several seconds later.

The property was large, with winding roads between trees, benches, flower beds, and small memorial plaques set into the grass.

Daniel parked near a row of maples.

I stopped farther back.

He got out.

He wasn’t carrying a briefcase.

There was no coworker waiting for him.

There was a girl.

Long dark hair.

Black jacket.

Jeans.

I knew her immediately.

She was the girl from the photograph.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Daniel walked toward her.

She didn’t hug him.

She handed him something.

A small cardboard box.

Daniel opened it.

Photographs.

Even from where I sat, I could see him lifting them one by one.

The girl crossed her arms.

Daniel said something I couldn’t hear.

She shook her head.

Then she looked toward the memorial plaque beside them.

I got out of the car.

My legs felt strangely unsteady after sitting.

I walked closer.

Daniel didn’t see me at first.

The girl did.

She stared at me.

Daniel turned.

The photograph slipped from his fingers.

“Megan?”

I stopped several feet away.

“Who’s she?”

He looked at the girl.

Then at me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who’s she?”

The girl looked between us.

“You said she knew.”

Daniel closed his eyes.

I heard myself ask:

“Knew what?”

The girl’s face went pale.

“Daniel?”

He didn’t answer.

She looked at him.

Her voice was smaller when she spoke again.

“Dad?”

I don’t remember hearing anything for several seconds after that.

Not the cars on the road.

Not the wind.

Nothing.

Daniel bent down and picked up the photograph he had dropped.

I could see it now.

He was younger in it.

Maybe nineteen.

He was holding a newborn baby.

Her Name Was Isla

We sat on a bench twenty yards from the memorial plaque.

The girl sat at the far end.

Daniel sat between us.

I stayed standing.

“Start talking.”

Daniel looked down at the photograph.

“Her name is Isla.”

The girl gave me a small, uncomfortable wave.

She looked seventeen.

Maybe younger.

“She’s my daughter.”

I stared at him.

“Your daughter.”

“Yes.”

“You have a seventeen-year-old daughter.”

“Yes.”

“And we’ve been married six years.”

He nodded.

I looked at Isla.

She immediately lowered her eyes.

That stopped me.

Whatever Daniel had done, the girl sitting on that bench hadn’t done it.

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen.”

Daniel rubbed his palms together.

“Her mother was Esme. We dated after high school.”

I looked toward the memorial plaque.

There were fresh flowers beside it.

I didn’t need to ask whose name was there.

“She died?”

Isla answered.

“In March.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded once.

Daniel started talking.

He told me Esme became pregnant when they were both young.

His parents panicked.

They believed a baby would ruin his chance at college and everything they had planned for him.

They pushed him to leave.

“They said Esme would be better off without me.”

“And you believed them?”

He looked at Isla.

“I was nineteen.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He swallowed.

“At first, no. I wrote to Esme. I sent letters. Money when I had it. Birthday cards.”

Isla reached into the cardboard box.

She pulled out a bundle of envelopes held together with an old rubber band.

Daniel stared at them.

“Those are yours?” I asked.

Isla nodded.

“Mom kept them.”

Daniel took one envelope.

His handwriting was across the front.

“My parents told me Esme wanted me to stop contacting her.”

Isla shook her head.

“She kept everything.”

Daniel looked like he wanted to say something, but I held up my hand.

There was one question that mattered more.

“When did you find out Isla was looking for you?”

Daniel didn’t answer.

Isla did.

“Last year.”

I turned toward him.

Our twins had been born four months ago.

“Last year?”

Daniel stood.

“Megan—”

“Before Kai and Theo were born?”

He looked at the ground.

That was my answer.

“How long have you been talking to her?”

“It wasn’t constant.”

“How long?”

“Several months.”

Isla shifted on the bench.

“He answered me in January.”

I looked at her.

Then at Daniel.

January.

I had been heavily pregnant.

Daniel had been assembling two cribs in the nursery and rubbing my back at night because I could barely sleep.

He had already known.

“When did you start meeting her?”

Daniel’s face tightened.