Chapter 3 - The Backyard
We went into the backyard. Diane sat on the patio steps. I stayed standing.
"Tell me what's going on."
She stared at the grass. "That picture is me."
"The dark-haired girl?"
"Yes."
I almost laughed from pure confusion. "You had black hair?"
"Yes."
"And brown eyes?"
"They're hazel."
"Your eyes are blue."
"Contacts."
I stared at her. "You wear colored contacts?"
She nodded. Every single morning for eight years, I'd watched my wife get ready. Somehow I'd never once questioned the little cases beside the sink.
"What about your hair?"
"Bleached."
"Since when?"
"Sixteen."
I sat down. Looked at the photo again. "What happened to your face?"
Diane flinched. The question sounded cruel the second it left my mouth.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant." She touched her nose. "I had surgery at nineteen."
"Your nose?"
"And my jaw."
I felt like someone had swapped my wife out for a stranger while I wasn't paying attention. "You told me you broke your nose playing volleyball."
"I did break it, once."
"But that's not why it looks like this."
"No."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
Diane's eyes filled. "Because I didn't want you to see her."
"Who?"
She pointed at the photo. "Me."
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"That is you."
"No." Her voice cracked. "That's who I spent my whole childhood being told not to be."
