Mom wiped her face with shaking fingers. “Since you were three months old.”
I felt Claire let go of my hand.
“Twenty-eight years,” she said. “Mom? How could you?”
“No,” Claire said. “Don’t say sorry yet. Say why.”
Mom looked at us, wrecked by her own confession. “Because I was afraid if you read it, one day you would look for him. And if you found continue reading …