“Do that.”
Then I hung up.
I don’t know how long I stayed there. I walked through the unit like I was trespassing inside my own marriage.
There were photos until Emily was about seven. After that, only letters. There were birthday letters, Christmas letters, and letters for milestones Mark never saw.
One wrapped box said, “For your tenth birthday.”
Another said, “For 16.”
Based on the dates, I realized Emily had to be somewhere in her early 20s by now.
By the time I left, I felt hollow. I don’t remember what I did after going home, but I do know that Mark came home just after midnight.
I was sitting in the living room with the key on the coffee table. He stopped the moment he saw me there.
“Lena,” he said softly.
“Sit down,” I said.
He quietly sat across from me.
“Start talking,” I demanded.
He clasped his hands together.
“Emily was born when I was 26,” he said. “Her mother’s name was Claire. We were together before I met you.”
“Were you married?”
