My Wife’s Secret Dropped From a Photo and Shook My Soul

My head spun. “She was nineteen,” Anna said. “College kid—gave her up, broke her heart.” Rage hit—we’d cried over failed tries, and she’d kept this? “She feared you’d walk,” Anna soothed. “Loved you too much.” I pictured her, squeezing my hand by parks, eyes misty—grieving Sophie, not just us. “What’s she like?” I asked. “Twenty-five, teaches preschool—Claire’s warmth,” Anna said. “Meet her?” “Yes,” I croaked. Morning found me at a café, jittery, when Sophie appeared—Claire’s grin, her tilt. “Mike?” she said. I stumbled up, “Sophie.” She hugged me, fierce, like family already.

We swapped tales—her world, Claire’s secret cards. “She watched me,” Sophie teared up. I got it—Claire hid her to shield her, love in the silence. “Wish I’d known,” I said, grasping her hand. “I’m here now.” “More coffee soon?” she asked. “Oh, yeah,” I smiled, light breaking through. That night, I paired the photos—Claire’s love staring back. “You nailed it, hon,” I murmured. “I’ll take it from here.”