I kept thinking about our 40 years together.
Were we happy?
Or had more of it been built on lies than I realized?
A waiter set down my plate. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.”
Robert studied the wine list.
Then I noticed a folded piece of paper beneath my plate.
I pulled it free.
Two lines were written on it.
“I know your husband’s secret.”
“Meet me at the back entrance at 11 p.m. Come alone.”
A chill ran through me.
I folded the note and slipped it into my purse.
At 11 p.m., Robert was already in bed watching television.
“I’m going downstairs for some tea.”
“Now?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“I’ll come.”
“No. Stay.”
He studied me, then nodded.
I took the stairs instead of the elevator.
The waiter was waiting outside the back entrance. His name tag read Evan.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” he said.
“Just tell me.”
“I’ve seen your husband here several times.”
My chest tightened.
“With another woman?”
He hesitated. “A young woman.”
After 40 years, there it was.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long has this been happening?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe two years.”
Two years.
We had spent the previous year planning this anniversary while Robert apparently already knew every hallway in the hotel.
“How young is she?”
“Early 20s, maybe.”
I grabbed the railing.
Robert was 65.
I felt sick.
“Did they stay together?”
Evan’s expression changed.
“You think they were having an affair?”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Mr. Harris booked the room under his name, but he never stayed overnight.”
“How do you know?”
“I work late. I’ve seen him leave.”
“Then why was he paying for her room?”
Evan hesitated.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice came from behind me.
“You really want to know?”
I turned.
Robert stood in the doorway.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I asked, “Who is she?”
Robert looked at Evan. “You should go.”
Evan disappeared inside.
I folded my arms. “Who is she?”
Robert looked exhausted.
“Her name is Ariella.”
“I didn’t ask her name.”
“She’s 23.”
“You’re not really answering my question.”
“She’s my granddaughter.”
I actually laughed.
“Your what?”
“My granddaughter.”
“Robert, we have three grandchildren. I know all of them.”
His face tightened. “There’s another one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Whose child?”
He swallowed. “My son’s.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t have a son. We only have two daughters.”
“I didn’t know I did.”
I stepped back.
Robert reached toward me.
“Don’t touch me.”
I said, “Start talking.”
So he did.
Before meeting me, Robert had dated a woman named Helen for less than a year.
Robert was 22.
They broke up, and he moved away for work.
A few months later, he met me.
What Robert never knew was that Helen had been pregnant when they separated.
She never told him.
She gave birth to a son named Mike.
“And your granddaughter told you all this?”
“Yes.”
“How does she know?”
“Helen told her.”
Mike had grown up never knowing who his father was. Helen apparently planned to tell him eventually.
She thought she had time.
Then Mike died unexpectedly three years ago.
He was 41.
He had an undiagnosed heart problem.
His daughter, Ariella, was 21.
After Mike died, Helen was consumed by guilt.
She had lost her chance to tell her son the truth.
So she told Ariella instead.
She gave her Robert’s full name, where he’d grown up, and everything she remembered about him.
She also admitted she’d never told Robert about the pregnancy.
“Why tell Ariella?” I asked.
“Because she said she couldn’t die with the secret too.”
“And then?”
“Helen died a year after Mike died.”
Robert rubbed his face.
“Ariella lost her father. Then her grandmother. They were basically her whole family.”
“Basically?”
“Her mother left when she was little.”
I looked away.
“So she came looking for you.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She found me online.”
“And you are really sure that she is your granddaughter?”
