Dad held a toddler in his arms.
Valerie stood beside him.
On the back, Mom had written:
Valerie’s first secret was not the affair. It was the child.
The room disappeared.
I sat down hard in Dad’s chair.
Grandma grabbed the photo.
Her lips parted.
“No.”
Valerie stopped smiling.
Adrian asked, “Mrs. Eleanor?”
Grandma looked up slowly.
“Valerie had a child when she was twenty-one. She told the family the baby died.”
Valerie’s face went blank.
Grandma stared at her.
“You told your mother the baby died.”
Valerie’s voice came out low.
“She did.”
Adrian took the photo.
“This child looks about two.”
Nobody moved.
Valerie suddenly turned and ran.
The officers caught her at the top of the basement stairs.
She screamed, “Get your hands off me!”
Adrian looked inside the folder from the safe.
There were birth records.
Adoption papers.
Money transfers.
And a name.
Lily Anne Collins.
My cousin.
Alive.
Grandma sat down beside me.
“I had a granddaughter,” she whispered.
Valerie shouted from upstairs, “She was never yours!”
The officers brought her back down, wrists restrained now.
Her beautiful robe had slipped from one shoulder. Her hair was falling loose. The mask was finally gone.
Grandma stood.
“What did you do?”