I bought the black suit the day after the call. The funeral home had already closed the casket by the time I returned from my business trip. “Better to remember her as she was,” my mother-in-law said, clutching my shoulder too tightly.
At the beach resort months later, I was watching Luke build sandcastles when I heard his excited scream. “Daddy! Look!” He was pointing at a woman in a blue sundress, her back to us as she walked along the shore.
Then she turned.
My stomach dropped. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear – a gesture I’d seen a thousand times – was unmistakable. “Stacey?” The name left my lips before I could stop it.
Her reaction confirmed everything. The panic in her eyes. The way she practically dragged her companion away. She was alive. And she’d been hiding from us.
The truth came out in painful fragments. An affair. A pregnancy. A family conspiracy to fake her death. The hardest part? Looking into Luke’s confused eyes and trying to explain why Mommy didn’t want to come home.
