“I was trying to keep this family together.”
“By frightening my wife?”
“By protecting you.”
“From what?”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
“From becoming your father.”
David stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“He had two lives. Two families. Two sets of promises. I spent years cleaning up what he left behind.”
Her voice trembled.
“You think he was kind because you were a child. You think he was honorable because he taught you to ride a bicycle and took you to baseball games. But I was the one who opened the bills. I was the one who found the letters.”
“Did he father Maya?”
Eleanor looked away.
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer sounded true.
