I’d written that.
At my kitchen table, with Wyatt three months old, asleep in his bouncy seat. I’d wanted to say thank you to someone. I’d never imagined anyone would read it.
“I sat in my office until four in the morning,” Graham said. “Then I woke up Diane and told her.”
“And she decided to hate me.”
“She decided to be scared,” Graham said quietly. “That’s not the same thing. Though I know it looked the same from where you were standing.”
I stared at him.
“You knew,” I said. “For eight years. You watched him grow up from the top of the bleachers. You stood in the pickup line every single day and nodded at me and looked away. And you never said a word.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you chose anonymous,” he said. “So did I. That was the deal. You picked a stranger out of a catalog because you didn’t want a stranger in your life. I respected that.” He paused. “And because Diane begged me not to. She was afraid. That you’d want something. Money. Me. That Harper would find out her father had a son she didn’t know about. That it would blow our whole family apart.”
