The envelope had been sitting in my old firm’s client-holding files for five years, addressed to me, unopened, because I’d left that firm shortly after the divorce and never thought to check.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of a positive pregnancy test. And a letter, in Elena’s handwriting, dated the week I filed for divorce.
“Alex,
By the time you read this — if you ever read this — you’ll know the truth, so I’m writing it down now, while it’s fresh, so there’s a record of exactly what happened and when.
You left me a folder of surrogacy brochures because you decided I couldn’t give you children. You asked for space. You filed for divorce.
Three days before you left, I found out I was pregnant.
I didn’t tell you.
