Then I heard the steps.
I looked up and saw my mother return with two glasses of coffee.
The look immediately went down to the photo in my lap.
It’s stopped.
One of the glasses slipped a little in his hand, and the hot coffee spilled on the lid.
Where did you get that? He asked.
I didn’t answer right away.
Mom, who is Emily?
His face has completely changed.
He didn’t try to pretend he didn’t know. He didn’t ask me what I was talking about. He placed the glasses on a loose chair and leaned against the wall.
“So he told you,” he murmured.
- No. He wrote me. And it looks like you’ve known twenty-five years.
My mother covered her face with her palms.
-
Sarah, please, not here.
-
Where, then? Home, where have you pretended all your life that there is no one else? At the table where you argued every week without ever telling me why?
