“Who is that?”
Daniel locked the screen.
“Something from work.”
“Work sends family photographs after midnight?”
He moved toward the door.
“Go back to bed, Meg.”
I caught his arm.
“Answer me.”
He looked toward the cribs.
“You’re exhausted.”
Something inside me went still.
“Don’t use our sons to make me doubt my own eyes.”
Daniel’s face changed.
For one second, I thought he might tell me.
Instead, he kissed my forehead.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you still won’t answer.”
He left the room.
Two days later, after the boys received a clean bill of health, Daniel and I sat beside each other in the waiting room like ourselves again.
Then his phone lit up between us.
I saw part of the message.
“I can’t keep being your secret. Mom died believing that…”
Daniel grabbed the phone.
“Who sent that?”
“No one.”
“No one seems upset.”
He glanced around. “Not here.”
“Who died?”
“Wrong number.”
“Wrong numbers don’t accuse you of hiding them.”
A nurse opened the door and called us.
Daniel lifted Kai’s carrier.
“We’ll talk later.”
We didn’t.
That evening, I opened our banking app and stared at four withdrawals from the emergency account.
Together, they totaled just over a thousand dollars.
