Chapter 1 - THE PAPER IN LILY’S POCKET
Victoria tore the blanket in half directly in front of Lily.
The sound was small.
Just fabric ripping.
But Daniel heard his daughter’s frightened cry from the hallway before he reached the playroom door.
When he stepped inside, the room looked as if something had exploded.
Wooden animals and stacking cups were scattered across the dark walnut floor. A metal toy bucket lay on its side near Emma’s shoes. Eleven-month-old Lily sat crying in the low cushioned chair, her cheeks wet and pink.
Emma stood three feet away.
Victoria stood between them.
And in Victoria’s hands were the two torn pieces of the pale yellow blanket Claire had bought before Lily was born.
Daniel stopped.
“Why is my daughter crying?”
Victoria changed instantly.
The contempt Daniel had glimpsed on her face disappeared.
“Daniel, she got overtired. Emma came charging in and—”
“Don’t.”
Emma had worked for Daniel’s family for sixteen years. She had known his first wife, Claire, before Lily existed, before the separation, before the terrible months after Claire died.
Daniel had never seen Emma look at anyone the way she was looking at Victoria now.
“She tore Mrs. Claire’s blanket in front of the baby,” Emma said.
Victoria’s jaw tightened.
“It was an old piece of fabric.”
“It was Lily’s.”
“It was clutter.”
Daniel crossed the room.
Victoria reached for him.
He walked past her.
Lily immediately stretched both arms toward him.
He lifted her against his chest.
Her little hands grabbed the lapel of his navy jacket.
“Hey, sweetheart. Daddy’s here.”
Lily buried her face beneath his chin.
Daniel felt something stiff beneath his palm.
Her jacket pocket bulged.
He assumed it was a tissue or one of the soft blocks she carried everywhere.
Then Lily started pulling at the pocket herself.
“Da.”
Daniel kissed her hair.
“What’ve you got?”
A folded piece of green-and-white paper slipped onto his wrist.
Victoria inhaled sharply.
Daniel noticed.
So did Emma.
He unfolded the paper one-handed.
It was a United States Postal Service return-receipt stub.
Certified mail.
The sender’s name was handwritten.
CLAIRE WHITAKER.
The delivery address was Daniel’s Manhattan office.
The date was nine months earlier.
Three weeks before Claire died.
Daniel read the signature beneath RECEIVED BY.
Victoria Shaw.
His wife’s maiden name.
He looked up.
Victoria had gone pale.
Daniel barely heard Lily whimpering against him.
“What is this?”
Victoria stared at the paper.
“I don’t know.”
Emma said, “She knows.”
Victoria spun toward her.
“You need to stop talking.”
“No,” Daniel said.
The word came out quietly.
Victoria looked back at him.
He could suddenly remember something Claire had said during the ugliest month of their separation.
I sent you everything I needed to say.
Daniel had thought she meant angry emails.
There had been plenty of those.
He had told her he never received anything else.
Claire had looked at him as if he were lying.
After she died, Daniel had replayed that conversation hundreds of times.
He looked at the certified-mail receipt again.
“Claire sent something to my office.”
Victoria said nothing.
“And you signed for it.”
“It was nine months ago, Daniel.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Victoria glanced toward Emma.
Daniel saw it.
The fear.
Not embarrassment.
Not annoyance.
Fear.
He held the receipt between two fingers.
“Where’s the letter?”
Victoria’s lips parted.
May you like
No answer came.
And for the first time since Claire’s death, Daniel wondered whether the last months of his first marriage had happened the way he remembered them at all.
