I put my hand over my mouth.
I remembered March two years ago. Ethan had been so quiet that month. Distant. He’d told me a friend from college had died. I’d brought him a casserole and held him while he cried, and he’d never told me the friend’s name.
“So you’ve been raising your daughter for two years,” I said slowly. “By yourself.”
He nodded.
“And somehow you managed to hide an entire child from me? For two years?”
“I never wanted to hurt you, Claire.”
“You could have trusted me,” I said. “Instead, you chose to lie.”
Ethan looked down at the floor.
“Where does Lily live?” I demanded.
“She’s with people I trust,” Ethan said.
“Who?”
He exchanged another look with Dad.
“She’s safe, Claire,” Ethan said. “I promise you. She’s happy.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Then I remembered all those Saturdays.
All the Saturdays Ethan disappeared. The emergency meetings at work on weekends. The weekends he spent “helping Robert with the gutters.” The dinners he canceled at the last minute. Something came up at the office. I’m so sorry, babe. I’ll make it up to you.
“All those times you said you were working late,” I said. “All those Saturdays. Were you with Lily?”
Ethan hesitated.
“Sometimes. Yes.”
“Sometimes? How often?”
“I see her several times a week,” he said. “And most weekends.”
I let out a bitter laugh. It didn’t sound like me.
“Unbelievable.”
Then another question hit me.
