My hands were shaking so badly the paper was trembling.
“James,” Anna said quietly.
“Give me a minute,” I said.
I don’t know how long I sat there.
Long enough for the coffee to go cold.
When I finally looked up, Anna was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read — not pity, not anger.
Something older than both.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“When you read this, did you know she married me?”
“Not right away.
I found out a few years later.
A mutual friend mentioned it.” She paused.
“I thought about writing to you.
More than once.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked at her cup.
“Because what would I have said?
That your wife had lied to keep us apart?
You were already married.
You might have had children by then.
What good would it have done?”
“I had a right to know,” I said.
