forget her.’”
Ethan looked down.
I could see his throat work.
Martin stared at the wall.
The conference room suddenly seemed full of things my mother had never said aloud. Thanksgiving dinners. Birthday cakes. Family photographs arranged on her mantel. Decades of telling stories about Dad and us while somewhere underneath all of it there had been another name she did not speak.
Anna.
I imagined my mother at eighteen.
Then I imagined being told to forget my child.
The thought was so violent I had to look away.
Helen