“Victor?” I stared at him. “What’s going on?”
His tired eyes met mine.
Before answering, he looked down at the locket in his hand.
“Before she died,” he said softly, “your mother begged me to stay silent.”
A chill ran through me.
“Silent about what?”
Victor glanced toward the kitchen window where my mother used to stand and watch him whenever she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Then he looked back at me.
“About who I am.”
The Man I Resented
Growing up, my mother packed three lunches every day.
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