“It isn’t mine exactly.”
“You paid cash.”
“For a reason.”
“Wonderful.”
I folded my arms.
“Start with her name.”
Adrian hesitated.
That hesitation cut deeper than anything else.
“You know her.”
“I clearly don’t.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“Adrian.”
“She was part of your family.”
Was.
The word landed strangely.
“Who?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I promised I wouldn’t tell you before everything was ready.”
“Promised whom?”
He looked at the photograph.
“The woman.”
I stared.
“You made another woman a promise that required lying to me the morning after our wedding?”
“When you say it like that—”
“There is no better way to say it.”
He nodded.
Fair.
I pointed at the Polaroid.
“Name.”
Adrian looked miserable.
Then:
“Her name is Evelyn.”
I waited.
Nothing.
“Evelyn what?”
His silence answered before his mouth did.
“Evelyn Hartwell.”
My stomach dropped.
Hartwell.
My mother’s family.
