I could not open the envelope.
Not immediately.
My fingers rested against the paper while Jake stood beside me, watching.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“Open it.”
“Did you read everything?”
“I read the letters.”
My stomach dropped.
“There were letters too?”
Jake nodded.
I pulled out the photograph first.
The paper had softened around the edges with age.
I turned it over.
A young Damon stared back at me from the front.
He looked almost unfamiliar.
His hair was darker. His face thinner. His expression lighter.
Beside him stood a woman.
She was smiling at the camera.
Her hand rested on Damon's arm.
I did not recognize her.
But I recognized the way Damon was looking at her.
It wasn't the expression of a casual friend.
It was tenderness.
Something in my chest tightened.
I turned the photograph over.
Six words had been written on the back.
“He promised he'd leave her for me.”
I read them twice.
Then a third time.
“Who wrote this?”
Jake shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I looked at the date.
“Why did Grandma have this?”
“I don't know.”
“And the letters?”
Jake pulled them from his jacket.
“There were three.”
He handed them over.
The first began with Damon's name.
The handwriting was the same as the message on the photograph.
Damon,
You told me you were going to tell her.
I stopped reading.
My hands had begun trembling.
The second letter was shorter.
I can't keep waiting.
The third contained one sentence that made my throat close.
You said this marriage would only be temporary.
I looked at Jake.
“My marriage?”
He nodded.
I could not speak.
Behind us, the restaurant door opened.
Damon stepped outside.
He saw the photograph in my hand.
His face changed instantly.
“Elena.”
I turned toward him.
“Who is she?”
He stopped.
Jake stepped away but did not leave.
Damon looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“That was a long time ago.”
“That isn't an answer.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Jake found it.”
Damon looked at our son.
“You had no right.”
Jake's voice was steady.
“She had a right to know.”
Damon looked at me again.
“Elena, please.”
“Who is she?”
He closed his eyes.
For twenty-five years, I had known my husband's face in every possible mood.
I knew when he was angry.
I knew when he was worried.
I knew when he was lying about being tired.
This was fear.
Real fear.
“She worked with me,” he said.
“Her name?”
“Marissa.”
The name felt strange in my mouth.
“Did you love her?”
Damon did not answer.
I laughed softly.
The sound surprised me.
It wasn't amusement.
It was disbelief.
“Did you love her?”
“I cared about her.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
The word nearly knocked the breath from me.
Jake lowered his eyes.
I looked at the photograph again.
“How long?”
“Before we married.”
“While we were dating?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
The night around us continued as if nothing had changed.
Cars passed.
Music drifted through the restaurant door.
Somewhere, a glass broke and someone laughed.
My world had split quietly.
“What happened?”
“She left.”
“Why?”
“Because she found out I was marrying you.”
I looked at him.
“Did you tell her you loved me?”
Damon swallowed.
“I told her I was trying to do the right thing.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“I didn't.”
I stared at him.
He had been twenty-five years younger when the photograph was taken.
But I suddenly felt as though I had been married to a stranger.
“Why did you marry me?”
Damon looked away.
“I loved you.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she believe you would leave me?”
He had no answer.
Jake stepped forward.
“She believed it because Dad told her.”
Damon turned sharply.
“Jake.”
“I read the letters.”
“Those letters are private.”
“So was Mom's humiliation tonight.”
Damon's face hardened.
Jake continued.
“You made her feel ashamed because she wore a dress you didn't approve of.”
He pointed toward the photograph.
“And now we're supposed to believe this has nothing to do with the woman you were seeing before you married her?”
Damon looked at me.
“It's complicated.”
I shook my head.
“No. It isn't.”
He frowned.
“Twenty-five years ago, maybe it was complicated.”
I held up the photograph.
“But you had twenty-five years to tell me.”
He looked down.
I felt something inside me settle.
Not heal.
Not forgive.
Settle.
The truth was finally on the table.
Jake touched my shoulder.
“Mom, there’s more.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The envelope wasn't the only thing Grandma kept.”
Damon went pale again.
I noticed.
“What else?”
Jake hesitated.
“Another envelope.”
Damon's voice came quickly.
“Jake, stop.”
I turned toward my husband.
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
Jake reached into his jacket again.
He pulled out another packet.
“This one wasn't addressed to Dad.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Who was it addressed to?”
Jake looked at me.
“You.”
Damon took one step forward.
“Elena, don't.”
I stared at him.
For twenty-five years, he had been the person telling me what I should know and what I should not know.
Tonight, I was done asking permission.
I took the envelope from Jake.
My name was written across the front.
The handwriting was not Marissa's.
It was my mother's.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
My mother had died eleven years earlier.
I had never seen this letter.
I opened it.
The first sentence made my knees weak.
Elena,
If you are reading this, then Damon finally told you the truth, or someone found what I was afraid you would one day discover.
I looked at Damon.
He had lowered his head.
My mother had known.
All those years ago, she had known something about my marriage.
Something I had never been told.
I read the next line.
I tried to protect you, but I may have made things worse by keeping silent.
My eyes filled.
“Mom knew?”
Damon said nothing.
Jake whispered, “I think she did.”
I kept reading.
There was a date beneath the letter.
The same week Damon and I had announced our engagement.
My hands shook so badly that the paper rustled.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
There was one sentence underlined twice.
Ask Damon why he needed your father to approve the marriage before Marissa found out.
I stopped.
I looked up.
“My father?”
Damon's face had gone completely white.
Jake stared at him.
“What does Grandpa have to do with this?”
Damon said nothing.
And suddenly, the dress no longer seemed like the most important thing that had happened on my fiftieth birthday.
The real story had started twenty-five years earlier.
And my husband had just realized that I had finally found the first missing piece.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: My Mother Left One Question Behind, and Damon’s Silence Finally Told Me Why He Never Wanted Me Looking Back
The Dress I Chose to Celebrate Fifty Years of Becoming Everyone Else Before Finally Choosing Myself
Part 3 of 10
