Mom, there is one more thing you don’t know.
I looked up.
“Where is Lily?”
Sarah’s face changed.
She glanced at Annie.
Neither of them answered.
“Where is my daughter?”
Sarah whispered,
“She left the house last night.”
I stood up.
“What?”
“She asked me to give you the box this morning.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
My heart began racing.
I ran upstairs.
Lily’s bedroom door was still closed.
I pushed it open.
Her bed was empty.
Her sewing machine sat on the desk.
A spool of blue thread was still attached to the needle.
On the desk was another piece of paper.
Three words were written across it.
Ask Dad why.
I stared at the words.
Then I heard a sound behind me.
Annie was standing in the doorway.
She was holding the silver heart necklace from the photograph.
“I think,” she whispered, “I know where Lily went.”
Part 3 — The Truth
Part 3 — The Truth
“Where?”
My voice barely came out.
Annie looked at the necklace in her palm.
“My mom never told me who my father was.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Annie…”
“But Lily found out.”
Annie’s voice broke.
“She found an old address in one of your husband’s letters. She went there.”
“Where?”
“To his old workshop.”
I froze.
Daniel had owned a tiny workshop before we married.
After Lily was born, he sold it.
Or at least, that’s what he’d told me.
I grabbed my coat.
“Take me there.”
Sarah hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I looked at Lily’s empty bed.
“But she’s my daughter.”
Annie quietly stepped forward.
“I’m coming too.”
Sarah immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Mom, she’s my sister.”
The room went silent.
Sarah looked at her daughter for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
We drove through the city in silence.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Annie sat behind me.
I kept looking at her in the mirror.
Every time I did, my heart twisted.
She looked like Daniel.
Not completely.
But enough.
The shape of her eyes.
The way she frowned when she was frightened.
The habit of rubbing her thumb against her fingers when she was nervous.
Things I had seen in my husband for years.
And things Lily had inherited too.
Two girls.
One father.
Two lives that should never have been separated.
When we arrived at the old workshop, the building looked abandoned.
The windows were dusty.
The sign had fallen crookedly from the wall.
I pushed the door open.
Inside, everything smelled of old wood and machine oil.
Then I heard something.
A sewing machine.
My heart stopped.
“Lily?”
No answer.
I walked toward the back room.
The machine stopped.
Then Lily stepped out.
Her face was swollen from crying.
“Mom.”
I ran to her.
I pulled her into my arms.
She resisted for half a second.
Then she collapsed against me.
“I’m sorry.”
I held her tighter.
“Never disappear like that again.”
“I had to find out.”
“Find out what?”
She pulled away.
She was holding a small envelope.
“I found this here.”
She handed it to me.
My name was written on the front.
In Daniel’s handwriting.
I hadn’t seen that handwriting in years.
I couldn’t open it.
My fingers wouldn’t work.
Lily took my hand.
“You need to read it.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
My love,
If you are reading this, I didn’t find the courage to tell you everything while I was alive.
There are things I regret.
Things I cannot undo.
Sarah and I knew each other before I met you.
She became pregnant.
I was afraid.
I told myself I could fix everything later.
Later never came.
When Lily was born, I convinced myself that keeping the truth hidden would protect everyone.
It didn’t.
I hurt Sarah.
I hurt Annie.
And eventually, I hurt you.
I have no excuse.
But there is something you must know.
Annie was never a secret because I was ashamed of her.
I was ashamed of myself.
I looked at the paper through tears.
Daniel had written about Annie’s childhood.
About the birthdays he secretly remembered.
About the school drawings Sarah sometimes sent him.
About the money he had quietly left for them.
And then came the sentence that made me stop breathing.
The blue cardigan was originally meant for Annie.
I looked at Lily.
She nodded.
“I found that out too.”
Daniel had bought the cardigan years ago.
He had planned to give it to Annie.
But he never did.
He had been too afraid.
Instead, he gave it to Lily.
And Lily had unknowingly worn it for years.
Until the day she learned who Annie was.
Until she understood what the cardigan meant.
I looked at Annie.
She was crying.
“I never knew,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“Do you hate me?”
The question broke something inside me.
I walked toward her.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“I don’t hate you.”
“But my father…”
“He made choices.”
I took a breath.
“You didn’t.”
Annie began crying harder.