The Birthday Nobody Forgot

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Tasha stood across the kitchen, her hands trembling slightly, but her eyes were fixed on me.

"They found out what happened to your first wife.""

I stared at her.

"What exactly are you talking about?""

She swallowed.

"Marcus, I didn't want to tell you this way.""

"Tell me what?""

She glanced toward the staircase.

"Not in front of the children.""

I stepped closer.

"The children already know something. Apparently, everyone knows something except me.""

"That's not fair.""

"Then explain why my daughter's school counselor was trying to arrange meetings about something connected to Danielle.""

Tasha rubbed her forehead.

"Your daughter has been asking questions.""

"What questions?""

"About her mother. About the accident. About why she died.""

I felt my chest tighten.

That wasn't unusual. Imani had always missed Danielle.

When she was younger, she'd sometimes ask me to describe her mother's voice or tell her stories about their time together.

I'd always answered honestly, as gently as I could.

"What does that have to do with the counselor?""

Tasha looked down.

"Imani told her that you never explained everything.""

I shook my head.

"I explained what happened.""

"No, Marcus. You explained what you wanted her to know.""

The kitchen seemed to shrink around me.

Danielle had died in a car accident six years earlier.

She'd been driving home from a grocery store on a rainy evening when another vehicle crossed the center line.

The police report had confirmed that the other driver was responsible.

I'd received the call at 8:17 p.m.

I remembered the exact time because I had been putting Caleb to bed.

I remembered the hospital corridor.

The smell of disinfectant.

The doctor who wouldn't look me in the eyes.

And I remembered promising my four-year-old daughter that her mother would come home.

I'd never made that promise again.

"What are you suggesting?"" I asked.

Tasha folded her arms.

"Nothing. I'm saying Imani has become obsessed with the past.""

"She's a child who misses her mother.""

"She's a child who has a father who refuses to move forward.""

I stared at her.

"Is that what this is about?""

Tasha looked away.

"You keep Danielle everywhere. Her photographs. Her jewelry.

Her recipes. That ridiculous butterfly necklace.""

I touched the pendant Imani had worn to bed the previous night.

"That necklace belonged to Danielle.""

"Exactly.""

"And you have a problem with my daughter wearing it?""

"I have a problem with living in the shadow of a dead woman.""

The words landed between us.

I felt something inside me go completely still.

"Get out of the kitchen.""

She blinked.

"What?""

"Not forever. Not yet. But get away from me until I understand what you've done.""

Tasha laughed bitterly.

"You're throwing away three years of marriage because of a few recordings?""

"No. I'm questioning three years of marriage because my children have been afraid to tell me the truth.""

She walked upstairs.

I waited until I heard the bedroom door close.

Then I opened the school counselor's email again.

There was a telephone number beneath the signature.

I called.

A woman answered after three rings.

"Good afternoon. This is Rachel Miller.""

"Ms. Miller, my name is Marcus Reed. I'm Imani's father.""

There was a pause.

"Mr. Reed.""

Her voice changed.

"I've been hoping you would call.""

I gripped the edge of the counter.

"Why didn't you contact me directly?""

"I tried. I left messages.""

"At my office?""

"Yes. Three times.""

"I never received them.""

"I was told you were aware of the situation and preferred that we communicate through your wife.""

I closed my eyes.

Tasha.

"Can you tell me what happened?""

Rachel hesitated.

"Mr. Reed, I need to be careful about discussing confidential conversations over the phone. But I can tell you that Imani approached me several months ago because she was worried about something at home.""

"What did she say?""

"She said she wasn't allowed to talk about her biological mother.""

I felt my throat tighten.

"Why?""

"She said your wife became upset whenever she mentioned Danielle. She also told me that she had been asked to stop asking questions about the accident.""

I leaned against the counter.

"Did she tell you anything about food?""

"Yes.""

I closed my eyes.

"Please continue.""

"Imani told me she sometimes felt hungry at home. She was worried about telling you because she believed it would cause another family breakup.""

My fingers tightened around the phone.

"Another?""

Rachel paused.

"She said her mother had already left once, and she didn't want to lose another mother.""

I looked toward the staircase.

My daughter had been trying to protect the woman who was hurting her because she was afraid of losing another person.

"Ms. Miller, I need to ask you something. What did you mean when you mentioned Danielle's death?""

The counselor took a breath.

"Imani told me that your wife had shown her something.""

"What?""

"A photograph.""

"What photograph?""

"She said it was an old picture of Danielle standing beside a man outside a restaurant. Tasha told her that her mother had been seeing someone else before the accident.""

My knees nearly gave way.

"That's impossible.""

"Mr. Reed, I don't know whether the photograph was genuine or what it showed. I only know what Imani told me.""

I sat down.

Danielle and I had been married for seven years.

We had problems, like any couple, but there had never been anything that made me question her loyalty.

"Did Imani say where the photograph came from?""

"No. But she was very distressed. She said she wanted to ask you whether her mother had loved you.""

I covered my mouth.

Rachel continued.

"She also said Tasha told her that if she kept asking questions, she would make you unhappy.""

I looked at the tablet.

The recordings.

The canceled appointments.

The notes.

Everything was beginning to connect.

"Ms. Miller, can you send me copies of the communications you attempted to make with me?""

"Of course.""

"And I'd like to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.""

"I'll make time tomorrow morning.""

After we ended the call, I sat in the kitchen for almost twenty minutes.

Then I went upstairs to check on the children.

My mother was reading to Imani.

Caleb was sitting on the carpet, arranging toy cars.

When I entered, Imani looked up.

"Daddy?""

"Hey, princess.""

She closed her book.

"Are you mad?""

I sat beside her.

"No.""

"At Tasha?""

I hesitated.

"I'm upset about some things. But you haven't done anything wrong.""

She picked at the corner of her blanket.

"Can I ask you something?""

"Anything.""

"Did Mommy really love you?""

The question broke something in me.

I pulled her close.

"Your mother loved you more than anything in this world.""

"But did she love you?""

I kissed the top of her head.

"Yes, sweetheart. She did.""

Imani was quiet.

Then she whispered, "Tasha said Mommy wanted to leave us.""

I felt my heart pound.

"She said that?""

Imani nodded.

"She said Mommy was going to leave Daddy for another man, and that's why she was driving somewhere that night.""

I pulled back so I could look at her.

"Listen to me carefully. Your mother did not leave you. She did not choose another family. She loved you and Caleb.""

Imani's eyes filled.

"Then why did Tasha say those things?""

I didn't have an answer.

Not yet.

I tucked her into bed and stayed until she fell asleep.

When I returned downstairs, my mother was waiting.

"I heard part of your conversation," she said.

I sat opposite her.

"Mom, did you ever know anything about Danielle having an affair?""

My mother looked genuinely shocked.

"Absolutely not.""

"Tasha showed Imani a photograph.""

My mother frowned.

"What photograph?""

"I don't know.""

She reached for my hand.

"Marcus, your wife loved you. I was there when she met you. I watched her become a mother. She was not the kind of woman who would abandon her children.""

I nodded.

"I know.""

"Then don't let someone rewrite her memory.""

I looked toward the staircase.

"I won't.""

The following morning, I visited the storage room in our garage.

After Danielle died, I'd placed several of her belongings in labeled boxes.

I hadn't opened them in years.

There were old family photographs, Christmas decorations, baby clothes, and a leather folder containing important documents.

At the bottom, I found a small envelope.

My name was written on the front in Danielle's handwriting.

I sat on the garage floor.

My fingers trembled as I opened it.

Inside was a folded letter.

It began:

My love,

If you're reading this, something may have happened that I never wanted you to face.

I stopped breathing.

I read the next lines.

I know you worry about the future. I know you sometimes think I don't tell you everything. But there's something about my family that I haven't been brave enough to explain.

The letter continued for another paragraph.

Then I reached a sentence that made my blood run cold.

If anything ever happens to me, please don't let anyone named Gregory Vale make decisions for our children.

I read the name again.

Gregory Vale.

I had never heard it before.

At the bottom of the letter was a phone number.

And beneath it, a final sentence.

He knows what happened before the accident.

I stared at the paper.

Then my phone rang.

The caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number.