"I showed him a picture."
"What picture?"
"A picture of you and your mother."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"I wanted to see his reaction."
"What did he do?"
She looked frightened.
"He went completely pale."
"What did he say?"
Emily swallowed.
"He asked me where I got the picture."
"I told him you had sent it."
"And?"
"He stared at me for almost a minute."
Then she whispered:
"He asked me, 'She still doesn't know?'"
I felt cold.
"Know what?"
"I don't know."
That night, I went directly to my father's house.
He was sitting in the dark.
The lights were off.
"Dad?"
He didn't answer.
I turned on the lamp.
He looked exhausted.
"Emily told me what happened."
He closed his eyes.
"I knew this day would come."
"What don't I know?"
He stood up slowly.
Then he walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a small metal box.
He placed it on the table.
"I found this after your mother died."
My heart started beating faster.
"What is it?"
"Something she left behind."
He opened the box.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of them.
Photographs of my mother.
Photographs of people I didn't recognize.
And photographs of every woman Dad had dated.
I picked up Claire's picture.
On the back was a handwritten note.
She knows.
I picked up Melissa's.
The same words.
Linda.
Same.
Susan.
Same.
Rebecca.
Same.
I looked at my father.
"What does this mean?"
He sat down.
"I wasn't dating those women because I was looking for another wife."
"Then why?"
"Because I was looking for someone who knew your mother."
I couldn't understand.
"Why?"
He looked at me.
"Because your mother had secrets."
I felt my chest tighten.
"Mom?"
He nodded.
"Three weeks before she died, she started acting differently."
"How?"
"She became frightened."
"Of what?"
"I don't know."
"Then why didn't you ask her?"
"I did."
"What did she say?"
He looked away.
"She told me that if anything happened to her, I should never trust anyone who claimed they knew what happened."
I stared at him.
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