Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TRIED TO HIDE
“Glenn already has another woman waiting for him. And she’ll be able to give him a real family.”
Bernice said those words with such satisfaction that, for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
My husband stood beside her, saying nothing.
Five-year-old Cooper pressed his teddy bear against his chest.
“Daddy?” he whispered. “Are you getting a new Cooper?”
Glenn looked away.
That was the moment I stopped trying to save my marriage.
I knelt beside my son.
“No, sweetheart. Nobody can replace you.”
Then I stood and faced Glenn.
“You think Cooper isn't yours?”
He folded his arms.
“My mother has made some very convincing points.”
“Then prove it.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“A DNA test. A legally recognized paternity test. You, Cooper, and an independent laboratory. No excuses.”
Bernice stepped forward.
“We're not wasting money on your ridiculous demands.”
I looked directly at her.
“Interesting. You're certain enough to destroy a child's family, but not certain enough to let a laboratory check.”
Her cheeks reddened.
Glenn slammed his hand against the counter.
“Fine! I'll take your stupid test. And when it proves I'm right, you're going to leave us alone forever.”
I nodded.
“Put that agreement in writing.”
For the first time that evening, Bernice seemed uncertain.
But Glenn was too angry to notice.
He grabbed a pen, wrote his agreement on a piece of paper, and signed it.
I took a photograph of the paper with my phone.
Then I went upstairs to pack.
Cooper followed me, dragging his little blue suitcase.
“Mommy, can Mr. Buttons come?”
“Of course.”
“And my dinosaur pajamas?”
“Absolutely.”
He thought for a moment.
“Can Daddy come later?”
I folded his pajamas carefully.
“I don't know, baby.”
That was the hardest answer I had ever given him.
Our bedroom was filled with things we had purchased together. Wedding photographs. Birthday cards. The quilt my grandmother had made.
But I packed only what Cooper and I needed.
My clothes.
His medical records.
His medicine.
His favorite books.
And the small emergency instruction sheet his neurologist had given us.
Before leaving, I called my friend Tessa Ward, another teacher at my school.
When I explained what had happened, she didn't ask whether I was exaggerating.
She simply said, “My guest room is yours. Bring Cooper.”
I nearly cried.
Downstairs, Bernice was supervising Glenn as he carried our bags toward the front door.
“Don't forget his toys,” she said coldly. “I don't want reminders of this unpleasant business.”
Cooper reached toward a red winter coat hanging beside the staircase.
Dana, I reminded myself, stay calm.
It was the coat I had bought him after saving twenty dollars from every paycheck.
On the pocket, I had sewn a little yellow star.
But Bernice caught his hand.
“That coat stays. I paid for plenty of things in this house.”
“You didn't pay for that,” I said.
She ignored me.
Cooper lowered his eyes.
“It's okay, Mommy. I have my sweater.”
I couldn't bear another argument in front of him.
I promised myself I would come back for the coat.
Then Cooper noticed something beneath the small table in the hallway.
A photograph had slipped from a wooden box Bernice was hurriedly moving into a cabinet.
He picked it up.
“Look, Mommy! Daddy was little!”
I turned.
The photograph showed a boy of about six sitting on a hospital bed.
He had Glenn's brown eyes and the same crooked smile.
A pale blue medical bracelet circled his wrist.
Beside him sat a little girl with a blue ribbon in her hair.
Someone had folded the photograph so the girl was almost invisible.
“Daddy had a hospital too?” Cooper asked.
Bernice rushed toward us.
“Give me that!”
I moved the photograph out of her reach.
“Why was Glenn hospitalized?”
“Children get sick, Dana. Don't start making up stories.”
I turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten message on the back.
Glenn and Rosie. January 1993.
Below it, written in smaller letters:
Second episode this month. Doctor says we must keep watching.
My heart began pounding.
“Who's Rosie?”
Glenn, standing near the front door, looked up.
“My sister.”
I stared at him.
In nearly ten years of marriage, he had mentioned his sister only once.
He had told me she died from a sudden fever when they were children.
But Bernice's reaction frightened me more than the photograph.
She grabbed Glenn's arm.
“Don't discuss your sister with that woman.”
I looked at the little girl in the picture.
Then at Cooper.
Then at the medical bracelet around Glenn's childhood wrist.
“Glenn,” I asked quietly, “what exactly happened to your sister?”
His face hardened.
“She died. That's all you need to know.”
Bernice reached for the photograph again.
But before she could take it, Glenn said something that made her stop.
“Wait, Mom. Why does that picture say second episode?”
Bernice went completely still.
May you like
And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:
“Because there are things about your childhood that you were never supposed to remember.”
