I took a breath.
“I want to test him. One time. One coffee. And then I’ll know.”
“Test him how?”
“I’m going to tell him I have a daughter I never mentioned. Twenty-five years old. I want you to be her.”
She actually laughed.
“You want me to pretend to be your kid?”
“Just for an hour. Call me Mom. Sit with us. Watch him. Tell me what you see.”
The laugh faded.
“Okay. But Aunt Maggie, when this turns out to be nothing, you have to promise me you’ll let yourself be happy.”
“I promise.”
I told Richard the next evening, over a second glass of wine in my living room. I made my voice soft, almost guilty.
“There’s something I never told you. Before we get married, you need to know. I have a daughter.”
His face did something — just for a flicker. The smile froze, the eyes went still, and then everything snapped back into place like a curtain dropping.
“A daughter? Maggie, why would you hide that?”
“She’s 25. We had a falling out years ago. We’re talking again now.”
His shoulders dropped half an inch — I watched it happen.
“What caused the falling out?”
“It’s complicated. Old wounds. I’d rather not get into it tonight.”
