I felt like the ground had disappeared beneath me.
Emily?
My hands started shaking uncontrollably.
Harold had a child.
A daughter.
Before me.
I sank down onto an old stool, unable to stand anymore.
My mind raced with questions.
Why didn’t he tell me?
Why hide this for an entire lifetime?
I kept digging.
Photos of the little girl growing up.
School pictures.
Birthday candles.
Moments frozen in time—moments he had never shared with me.
Moments he had carried alone.
Then I found another letter.
This one wasn’t old.
The paper was new. The handwriting unfamiliar.
Dear Mr. Ellis,
My name is Lily.
I think I’m your granddaughter.
My mom, Emily… she passed away last year.
Before she died, she told me about you.
She said you didn’t know about me—but that you were a good man.
I didn’t know what to do… but I found your address.
I hope it’s okay that I wrote to you.
—Lily
My chest tightened.
Lily.
The girl at the funeral.
