“She was pregnant,” he said gently. “She thought if she came home and told you, you’d never forgive her.
That’s what she said.”
My knees gave out, and I had to sit down on the edge of the bed. I put a hand over my mouth to keep from crying into the phone.
“She wanted a clean slate,” he continued. “She ran.
Changed her name. Got a job. We met at a diner three months later.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name’s Luke,” he said.
“We’ve been married for three years. We have two kids. One from when she left…
and one together. A little girl.”
I couldn’t speak.
My breath came out in shallow gasps. I kept thinking, “She’s alive!”
“She’s okay,” he added.
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