Chapter 2 - What Was Behind the DoorThe building at 118 Larkspur was nothing special — three stories of brick, a few kids' bikes chained up by the entrance, nothing that looked like it was hiding a single secret. I sat in the car for almost five minutes just staring up at it before I finally worked up the nerve to try the key.
It slid into the front door lock like it had been made for it.
That was the moment I nearly turned around and drove home. Up until then, part of me had still been hoping this was some strange family joke. But the key fit, and it turned, and the door swung open, and there was no joke left to hope for.
Upstairs, apartment 4C. My hand shook as I pushed the key into the lock.
Click.
My stomach folded in on itself. "Hello?"
Nothing.
I pushed the door open slowly. Someone clearly lived there — a row of shoes by the entrance, a coffee mug half-full on the counter, kids' school papers held up on the fridge with star-shaped magnets. And then, draped over the back of a dining chair, a jacket.
Brown corduroy.
I knew that jacket. I'd bought it for Jack for Christmas two years back. I touched the sleeve like I needed to double-check it was real.
It was his. No question.
My heart was hammering by the time I got Denise back on the phone. "Why does my husband have clothes in a secret apartment?"
"Keep looking."
"Is there a woman living here?"
Nothing.
"Denise?"
"Keep looking, Claire."
That's when I saw the photographs on the wall by the hallway. Jack, in half a dozen of them. Sitting next to a little girl at what looked like a diner booth. The same girl riding on his shoulders at some fair or festival. The two of them standing together in front of a Christmas tree, matching pajamas, matching grins.
She couldn't have been older than eight or nine. Same brown eyes as Jack. Same dark hair.
My stomach dropped clean through the floor.
My husband had a daughter. It was the only thing that made any sense to me right then.
"Who is this little girl?"
Denise didn't answer.
I looked down the hall. One door at the end, closed.
"What's behind that door?"
Finally, Denise spoke. "That's the reason I gave you the key."
My hand was shaking hard enough that it took me two tries to get a grip on the handle. I pushed it open.
It was a kid's bedroom. Purple comforter on a twin bed, a shelf of stuffed animals, a stack of chapter books by the pillow, colored pencils scattered across a little desk by the window. And above that desk, more photos — Jack holding the girl when she couldn't have been more than two, Jack standing beside her at what looked like a school talent show, Jack with both hands over hers, teaching her to balance on a bike.
I could barely get a breath in.
My husband had a child, and he had hidden her from me completely.
Then I noticed a card sitting on the desk, made of purple construction paper, folded in half. Written across the front in marker: FOR JACK AND CLAIRE.
My name.
I opened it. "Congratulations on getting married. Jack says Claire is really nice. I hope I get to meet her someday." Underneath, in smaller handwriting, like she'd added it after: "Jack, I promise I won't bother you after you get married."
I read it twice. Then a third time.
Under the card was a photo of Jack and the girl on a park bench. On the back, in the same careful kid's handwriting: Me and the best big brother in the world.
Brother.
I sat down hard on the edge of the bed. "Denise?"
"You found everything?"
"Who is she?"
"Lily."
"Jack's daughter?"
"His half-sister."
I looked around the room again, at all those pictures, at a life my husband had clearly been living for years without a single word to me about it. "Why have I never heard of her?"
Denise sighed, and it sounded tired in a way that told me this had been going on a long, long time. "Because Patricia made sure you wouldn't."
I didn't get to ask another question before I heard the front door open.
"Claire?"
Jack.
Less than a minute later he was standing in the bedroom doorway, his eyes moving from me, to the photos, to the card still in my hand. He shut his eyes.
"Denise gave you the address."
"Yes."
He sank into the desk chair like his legs had given out. I stayed standing.
"Who is Lily?"
"My sister."
"Why did I have to break into a secret apartment less than twenty-four hours into our marriage to find that out?"
"It's complicated."
May you like
I looked straight at him. "No. Explaining something complicated. Hiding it for four years isn't complicated, Jack. It's a choice."
He looked down at the floor and, eventually, started talking.
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