“He told me to wait until the day after,” she said.
I asked her to leave it until morning, but she refused.
“I have spent my whole life as a secret. I cannot wait anymore.”
She sat beside me and placed the box between us. Inside were old letters and faded photographs. The first picture showed David’s father beside a young woman I had never seen.
“My mother,” Grace whispered.
On the back, David’s father had written one word: Forgive me.
Then Grace told me the truth.
David was not her father.
He was her half-brother.
