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  Our life together has been something I treasured every day and night. Whether it was you and me courting or showing our sons the wonders of Yellowstone, it was always special to me. No other man has been as lucky as I to have such an adoring wife, an idyllic home and family life, and five caring, respectable, and genuinely good sons.

  Our sons have been the center of it all. As each of our boys came along, I learned to love with more depth and power, and to understand how to recognize such amazing gifts as blessings. I also realized not everyone in this world has been as privileged as we have been, and for that, I'm compelled to reveal a secret I should have confessed when it happened many years ago.

  I know what I'm about to tell you will come with great shock, and it has the ability to change the dynamics of our family. My reasoning came from a good place years ago, one where I only cared to bring you as much happiness as I could deliver. When you told me you were pregnant, I felt fear, shock, and joy at the same time. While I was nervous about the changes it would bring to our lives, I eventually grew to believe it was our destiny. And I desperately looked forward to you having the baby.

  Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be. You were exhausted after giving birth to each of our sons, often under heavy anesthesia and pain medication. I watched you sleep for a few hours each time admiring your beauty and serenity. But shortly after our son was born, he stopped breathing and didn't survive.

  At the same time, another woman had given birth to a baby boy. She was a young girl who couldn't care for the child. She had only been in this country for a few months. Knowing such incredibly intense pain and despair at losing a child, I didn't want to bring the same horror to you. I reacted quickly and convinced the girl we would provide the right home for her new baby. I gave her money to get her life started. She left, and I never saw her again. Her name was Rowena Hector.

  I considered telling you and formalizing adoption paperwork, but I feared what might happen if we'd gotten the authorities involved. Rowena worried they wouldn't let her stay in the country if she formally gave up her rights to the child. I handled this in a risky manner, especially when a family law attorney should know better. I foolishly focused on the devastating loss if it didn't work out doing it the right way.

  I know you may disagree with what I ask of you next, but it was my decision back then, and I must now correct the path I chose. Nothing will ever replace you in his heart, but our son deserves to know the truth, especially since I'm gone. I need to absolve myself of this guilt and sorrow, despite my approach branding me a cowardly man. I beg forgiveness and for you to understand I thought it better at the time to spare you the pain of losing a child and to find a way to take care of a new life by giving a baby a home with two loving parents. When we meet again, I will do everything in my power to show you it came only from love.

  I've written another letter to our son–and I do mean our son–as we raised him from birth through his journey into becoming an adult. He'll always belong to us, but he should have the opportunity to decide if he wants to meet his birth mother. Ira will search for her, and if he finds her, I want you to give our son the second letter, so he can hear from me how and I why I made this decision. If Rowena Hector has died, I leave it to you to decide whether to tell our son about my actions or pretend this never happened.

  And now, the hardest part. You're undoubtedly curious which of our sons I'm speaking of. When you've found Rowena, and are ready to give the letter to our son, please read it before giving it to him. I beg of you not to open it until you have found Rowena. I hope someday courage will conquer cowardice such that I tell you in person and destroy this letter, but for now, this was the only way I could confess. Until we meet again, my darling Olivia…

  Ben

  Chapter 3 – Olivia & Diane

  Despite summer's early attempt to burst on to the scene, the weekend ushered in dark clouds and a cool, heavy rain. For Olivia, the tattered noise of drops pounding against the window were simply another item she added to the growing list of reasons why she couldn't sleep. Olivia opened her eyes and breathed in her surroundings. The vibrant sun rose above her backyard as though nothing bad had happened. Everyone around her would start another normal week. Except for her. The empty side of the bed sent pangs of grief to Olivia, but it was the bitter letter she wanted to incinerate that had pushed her over the edge. She'd already read it too many times since becoming aware of its existence, praying it would change each time the words passed her doubting lips.

  When the letter was first mentioned, she thought Ben had pulled a trick to encourage her to laugh instead of cry over his death, a comfort she wanted to rely on, but she knew Ben would never use the boys in such a seedy manner. He might have jokingly confessed to hiding another wife or losing their money, but he would never fabricate a story about the boys. If he wrote the words, they must be true. He'd never lied to her before, except, he had.

  Ira rang twice to speak with her, but she declined his calls, even after some of the boys pushed her hard to quell their fears over Ben's last letter. Olivia had been whirling not only from her husband's death, but the secret he revealed from the grave, bound to wreak havoc on an already burdened family bereft of their leader. Anger intensified over Ben's selfish decision. She'd lost a child, and no one allowed her any time to mourn. A baby who died without ever recognizing its mother's arms around him, treasuring any opportunity to know love before the world forgot he existed. Salty tears filled her eyes and painful questions plagued her head.

  What happened to the baby? Was there a burial? How did no one realize it? Does anyone else know? Who grieved for my lost boy?

  Olivia's parched throat screamed evolving into a loud and guttural wail. It echoed off the bedroom walls, sending her body into tormented convulsions of frustration and rage. Her hands shook and searched for something to throttle, finally settling on the closest object in her path.

  Diane rushed into the bedroom. Olivia ripped apart Ben's pillow and cried in rampant distress. Diane hugged and cradled her sister in her arms. Their sticky, sweaty skin pressed against one another in the hopes two were more prepared to fight off misery's lecherous grip.

  “He's gone, Liv. I know you're hurting. I'm here for you. Let it out.”

  “I'm not crying because he's gone. I'm crying because of what that jerk did, what he took from me. How could he do it?”

  “Oh, Liv. You don't mean it, honey. Ben was taken too soon from you. He didn't cause the accident. That's just your anger talking.”

  Olivia kicked the pillow away and jumped off the bed thrashing and jostling Diane from her path. “I'm not talking about the accident. I need to get out of this house.”

  Diane sat motionless on the bed watching as her sister released intrusive pain and pent-up emotion. “Talk to me. What's going through your head? Is it grief over something in the letter?”

  Olivia paced the floor, pulling out locks of hair as she ripped a silver flower clip from her head and threw it across the room.

  As it whizzed by Diane's face and slammed into the bedpost, three of its metallic petals splintered and cracked, each one disintegrating on its flight to the floor. A final crashing sound emanated against the foot of the nightstand, resulting in Olivia dropping to her knees with eyes full of fury and lips full of venom.

  Olivia begged for a hug, and she crumbled into Diane's waiting arms. “I'm not ready to tell you everything Ben wrote in the letter. I need to figure out what it means and what I must do now. He lied to me.”

  Diane rubbed her sister's back to calm her. She pulled Olivia's hair together in a bunch and away from her eyes. “Why don't we get breakfast, and you can tell me whatever you feel comfortable telling me right now. One mistake doesn't erase forty years of a good marriage.”

  Olivia smirked. “Forty years of a good marriage? It may have been happy at one time, but it swarmed full of lies. You don't understand what he's done, Diane.”

  Olivia slipped away from the embrace and walked to
her bathroom kicking Ben's mangled pillow to the side. Feathers glided through the emotionally-charged air to the carpeted floor as she treaded on to wash away the tears. When she entered the bathroom, she could only find his terrycloth robe, still hanging on the back of the door, unused since the morning of the anniversary party. The musky scent soothed her as she searched for any memory to bring her relief.

  Olivia sniffled and breathed in deeply recalling the day she'd met Ben forty-two years ago. After the New York law firm where they both worked had won a few high-profile cases that summer, they received an invitation to Puccini's Turandot performance at the Metropolitan Opera House. Once entering the ornate hall, Olivia stood in the foyer searching for someone she knew to watch the crowd with before the performance began. The room boasted wide and open spaces with endless gold-plated ceilings holding sweeping silk draperies against the thick white marble columns. Bowls of fresh purple and yellow freesias uncurled their soft petals against each of the pillars, and the peppery strawberry scent drove Olivia's senses dreamy and gleeful. She glided toward the West entrance, stepped up the glossy set of stairs and quickly lost her footing. As she leaned to the left narrowly missing a waitress carrying hors d'oeuvres, a man caught her arm, and she fell against him, jolting at the charge of electricity surging through her body. Although an office romance might damage her career, it didn't stop her from pursuing Ben. Olivia graciously thanked him for saving her from an embarrassing fall, and her eyes stared into his for a moment longer than she'd expected. It was that night at the opera when they'd shared their first kiss. It was brief, a goodbye kiss after the performance ended, and his masculine scent fashioned a chill down her back. She'd worn three-inch pumps and still had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach his lips. When they pulled away from hers, a wave of euphoric serenity chased out everything around her except for that moment with Ben. She would never forget the kiss, not even in his death.

  Diane rested on the disheveled bed for a few moments longer analyzing the situation. As she became distracted by guessing the unknown contents of Ben's letters, she thought back to a conversation they'd had several years earlier…

  “Are you all ready for the party this afternoon?” Diane asked.

  “Yes. I'm an old man since the last kid ran out the door in search of greener pastures. How is my favorite sister-in-law?” said Ben.

  “I'm your only sister-in-law, at least on my side of the family, you old coot. Tell me something I don't already know.”

  “I can't imagine having anyone else I'd want as my real sister more than you. And I include my own sisters.”

  “I'll accept it. You've been such a good husband to Liv all these years.”

  “Join me for a drink in the study, Diane.”

  “Sure, but nothing too strong for me today. I'm sure Liv has tons of tasks for me to focus on this afternoon. I'm probably in charge of cooking, entertainment, and clean-up.”

  “Don't let your sister tell you what to do. You need to relax. You're not their mother hen… Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say such cruel words.”

  “Don't fuss about it. George didn't want kids. It's not in the cards for me.”

  “Forgive me for saying it, but you need to leave that louse and put yourself first for once.”

  “I know he isn't friendly and doesn't often do much, but he's provided for me all these years. It's not like he ever hurt me or anything along those lines. Besides, if I'd left him years ago, what would I've done… adopt a child on my own?”

  “Adoption is a rewarding and fulfilling path. All children need a good home with a loving parent. You would have been a terrific mother, Diane.”

  “Said the man with five of his own boys. I'll consider it, but as of now, I've no intention of leaving him after twenty-five years of marriage.”

  “I can respect your decision, but you need to focus on yourself and your own future. I told the estate attorney that same thing when I saw him yesterday. Since the boys are all grown, I wanted everything properly buttoned-up for whenever something happens to me in the future.”

  “You're being vague and morbid. That's abnormal.”

  “It's been a rough couple of years for this family. So much change has been happening. I simply want to prepare for whatever else may occur. I'm getting older. Not handling the stress as well I used to.”

  “But we're a strong family, and we'll get through it. You're good at taking care of everyone.”

  “I wouldn't go that far. I've made questionable decisions along the way. I'm afraid to disappoint Olivia.”

  “Are you worried Liv won't agree with your decision at the lawyer's office?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Liv can be a force when she wants to be. She's certainly set in her ways.”

  “Strong-willed like her mother, but that shows why I love her so much. You'll need to support her if anything happens to me. She never lets herself get close to anyone else besides you, and of course, the boys.”

  “That's true. She still hasn't warmed up to Sarah or Margaret.”

  “The ladies she works with at the charities are purely business connections. On those rare occasions when they tried to bond, competition surfaced above anything else. Remember the incident with the fashion show?”

  “Oh, I remember it. Betty and the girls wouldn't talk to her for weeks. They still hold a grudge every time some fool suggests another fashion show. Poor Liv… she didn't mean to be so loud, it just came out. She's always been a victim of her own sharp tongue.”

  Diane jolted from her memory when Olivia closed the shower door. As memories of the fashion show incident disappeared from her mind, a laugh supplied the energy she needed to leave the bedroom while Olivia finished dressing. Years ago, Olivia had volunteered to lead a designer's charity ball and needed to find several women to model a new clothing line by Ben's client's wife. When the client's wife offered to let Olivia's friends walk the runway, Olivia's response said it all. Unfortunately, she delivered the response while at a press release event where a news crew recorded her saying “None of those ugly cows would even fit in this couture. It would be as if we asked Miss Piggy to model a new petite line of muumuus.” Her sharp voice and snooty demeanor were prominently displayed on News12 for the next three days, on the hour, every hour, and not even Ben's firm, nor his client's corporation, could have it pulled.

  Diane shuffled downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She switched on the coffee, having already prepared it the night before. Grabbing a quiche out of the refrigerator, she sliced two giant wedges and put them in the broiler to warm up.

  While the coffee dripped, Diane set two places at the breakfast nook in the corner, her favorite spot in her sister's home. When she'd stay over to watch the boys, they always wanted to eat in the kitchen. Olivia and Ben usually served meals in the dining room preferring a formal atmosphere. Diane favored the ease and comfort of squeezing into the padded benches and chairs in the corner of the kitchen. The table overlooked the gardens in the backyard, always full of vegetables, fruits, flowers, and birds emanating warmth and offering intimacy. The boys would get toast crumbs all over the seats and spill orange juice on the floor. Diane enjoyed taking care of the boys and even cleaning the mess. She hadn't been blessed with warm and inviting memories in her own home, saddened when most everyone else took them for granted.

  She checked the quiche savoring the golden-brown crust and bubbling gruyere, her nose tempted by the comfort it offered. The over-sized kitchen held several sprawling islands full of top-of-the-line cooking equipment, china—both fine-dining and regular daily use—glasses, silverware, and serving dishes. Olivia collected both antique and modern kitchenware inheriting their mother's love of food but not her culinary skills. Most of the items went unused except for the core stock; however, Olivia enjoyed having beautiful toys around her.

  As Diane placed the dishes on the table, Olivia entered the kitchen. She'd pulled her hair into a bun, and while her face still bliste
red a blood red, the puffiness had receded.

  “Thank you. I know I'm not making much sense,” Olivia mumbled.

  “It's okay. I'll cut you slack for another day or so. Then I'll force you to live again. Do you wanna talk about the letters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pour the coffee. I'll take out the quiche and sit at the nook in a minute. We should eat in the kitchen.”

  “That's a good idea.”

  Diane arranged two floral placemats on the table, added a fork and knife for each of them, and unfolded two cloth napkins, as Olivia wouldn't use paper ones. She and their maid, Louise, once had words about it. Louise no longer worked for Olivia.

  A few minutes and several bites later, Olivia started talking. “Something happened years ago, and Ben handled the situation on his own. He never told me until this letter.”

  “Ben was good at handling situations. He knew how to be practical and keep things from getting out of control.”

  Olivia tossed her head to the left side raising her cheeks and eyes toward the ceiling. “He may've been a little too good. And before you ask, no, he didn't have an affair or kill anyone.”

  Diane giggled. “Oops, I didn't mean to laugh, Liv. Affair? Murder? Seriously, that's not the Ben we both know.”

  “You mean knew.” Olivia glanced at her sister, and they shared a brief recognition of their collective loss.

  Olivia continued. “But what he did was serious, and it has consequences. I need time with Ira. It affects one of the boys. I'm not sure which one it impacts.”

  “This doesn't make sense. Was Ben upset with one of the boys?”

  Olivia shook her head. “No, but before I can give Ben's letter to my son, whichever one it is, Ira needs to do research to figure out exactly when this… situation… happened. Ben kept a secret from me, but wants me to fix the problem. I don't know how he did it. I'm so angry with him.” A few tears formed in Olivia's eyes.