“Who was Lena?”
The color drained from his face.
“They told you.”
“They found the letters.”
He lowered his head.
“I should’ve told you.”
“When? Before we got married?”
He said nothing.
“When we were dating?”
Still nothing.
“When, Ethan?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I wanted to tell you during the first few months. Then it felt too heavy.”
“So you waited.”
He nodded.
“Then we got engaged.”
Another nod.
“Then we got married.”
“I know.”
“And every year after that, it became harder.”
His eyes met mine.
“I wasn’t trying to deceive you.”
“But you did.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Tell me everything.”
We sat at the kitchen table where we had celebrated birthdays, planned vacations, and talked about having children.
Ethan took a long breath.
“I met Lena when I was 22. We were together for almost four years.”
“You were engaged.”
“Yes.”
“And she was pregnant.”
“Almost seven months.”
He looked at his hands.
“She and her sister were driving to visit their parents. A drunk driver crossed the center line.”
“The baby didn’t survive.”
“No.”
“And Lena?”
“They couldn’t save her.”
Silence settled between us.
“I spent a long time learning how to keep living,” he said. “Eventually, I moved here. Then I met you.”
“And you never told me.”
“I wanted you to know me as the man I had become.”
“I married all of you, Ethan, not just the parts you thought were easier.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
I took a breath.
“The officer asked whether anyone else had access to my keys. You answered for me.”
“I panicked.”
“You didn’t want me thinking about your trips.”
“No.”
“So you’ve been borrowing my SUV because of the cemetery?”
He nodded.
“My truck is loud.”
I frowned.
“The exhaust has been rattling,” he explained. “If I started it after you went to bed, you would’ve heard it from the bedroom.”
“So you took mine.”
“You never woke up when I started your SUV.”
Every excuse suddenly made sense.
“My truck needs gas.”
“Your SUV is easier to park.”
“My battery seems weak.”
One lie after another.
“How many times did you go?”
“Four times this month.”
“Why so often?”
“The anniversary was coming. I kept trying to finish the letter. Sometimes I drove there and sat in the parking area without getting out.”
“I wasn’t trying to hold on to my former life,” he continued. “I said goodbye years ago. I still visit because Lena and the baby existed, and I want to pay my respects.”
“I understand that.”
He looked surprised.
“I don’t blame you for remembering them. I blame you for deciding your wife couldn’t be trusted with the truth.”
His face crumpled.
“I was trying to avoid hurting you.”
“You made that decision for me.”
That evening, Ethan’s older sister, Claire, came to the house.
She looked anxiously between us.
“I came as soon as Ethan called.”
I faced her.
“You knew.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I thought you did. Ethan said he was going to tell you.”
“So everyone assumed I already knew.”
“I’m so sorry, Maia.”
“Did your parents know he hadn’t told me?”
“I don’t think they realized. None of us did.”
His sister knew. His parents knew. His oldest friends probably knew.
