“There was an accident.”
Claire stared at her parents.
“Her name is Emma,” Margaret whispered.
“Who is Emma?”
My wife closed her eyes.
Margaret’s voice broke. “Claire’s daughter.”
The words didn’t make sense.
“What?”
Claire didn’t remember anything.
“She was nineteen,” Margaret said. “There was a boy. Daniel. They were going to get married…”
“Margaret.”
“There was an accident. Daniel died at the scene. Claire was eight months pregnant. The doctors delivered Emma early.”
I looked at Claire. “You had a daughter?”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
Margaret shook her head. “Claire didn’t wake up for eleven days.”
“Claire was better off not knowing.”
I could hear my own pulse.
“When she woke up, she didn’t remember Daniel or pregnancy. Claire didn’t remember anything from the last three years.”
“And you never told her?”
Margaret started crying. “The couple across the street adopted Emma. Legally. They raised her as their daughter. We told ourselves Claire was better off not knowing.”
“You watched her grow up?”
“WHY?” Claire cried. “Why did you get to decide that for me?”
Margaret looked down. “We never approved of Daniel. You were nineteen, Claire. You needed to finish school, build a life. A baby and Daniel would only have held you back.”
Claire stared at her.
I felt sick. “So you used the accident…”
“I asked about it.”
Margaret’s face crumpled. “Yes.”
I looked toward the window. At the house across the street. At Claire’s car in its driveway.
“You watched her grow up?”
Margaret nodded. “Birthdays. Christmases. School plays. Emma thought we were just the old couple across the street who loved her like grandparents.”
“The scar,” I said, turning to Claire. “How did you not remember? You must’ve had a scar.”
“I didn’t even know she existed.”
“I did. I asked about it.” Margaret lowered her eyes. “We told her it was from surgery after the accident.”
Claire’s whole body was shaking.
“They gave her away, Sam,” my wife said. “My baby lived, and they gave her to the neighbors. Then they watched her grow up while I didn’t even know she existed.”
She crossed to the bassinet and lifted Lily against her chest like the baby was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Sam.”
“Tell me,” I said. “From you. Tell me.”
“I didn’t know his name then.”
“I was nineteen,” she whispered. “I didn’t know until yesterday. When I saw Lily’s eyes, something came back. A boy laughing. A highway. A hospital ceiling.”
“Daniel?” I asked.
She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “I didn’t know his name then. I just knew I’d loved him.”
“And Emma?”
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