My daughter’s eyes.
Before I could stop myself, I climbed the stairs.
I needed to see her face up close.
“What are you doing?”
Ryan’s voice cut through the air.
I froze.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, no longer smiling.
For a moment, shame rushed through me. I knew how terrible it looked. I was a stranger snooping through his house.
But fear had pushed me past manners.
I pointed toward the photo.
“Is that Lily’s mother?”
Ryan’s face changed.
The anger faded, replaced by something heavier.
Grief.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “That’s Mary.”
“Where is she?”
His jaw tightened.
“She passed away last year.”
The words should have softened me.
But I was too tangled in suspicion, too desperate for answers.
I hurried down the stairs.
“Was it because of Jack?” I demanded.
Ryan blinked. “What?”
“Did Jack know her? Did they have an affair? Is that why Lily and Emma look alike?”
Ryan looked horrified.
“No,” he said firmly. “God, no.”
“Then what is going on?” I cried. “Because my husband won’t tell me anything, and I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Before Ryan could answer, two small voices sounded from the hallway.
“Mommy?”
I turned.
Emma and Lily stood there holding hands, their little faces full of worry.
Seeing them like that nearly broke me.
Ryan softened immediately.
“Everything’s okay, girls,” he said gently. “Heather and I just need to talk for a minute. Why don’t you two go back outside?”
Emma looked at me.
I nodded, forcing a calm I didn’t feel.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll come get you soon.”
The girls slowly walked away, glancing back at us as they went.
Ryan waited until the door closed behind them.
Then he motioned toward the living room.
“Sit down,” he said quietly. “You need to hear the truth.”
My legs felt weak as I lowered myself onto the couch.
Ryan sat across from me, clasping his hands together.
“First,” he said, “Jack did not have an affair with Mary.”
I held my breath.
“Mary was Jack’s sister.”
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