“Do you know a woman who was with Mark at the bakery this morning?”

Lauren’s face went still.

Mark turned sharply toward me.

“Rose, stop.”

“No,” I said. “You stop.”

Lauren looked between us.

“What woman?”

Mark rubbed both hands across his face.

The baker unlocked her phone again.

“I have security footage.”

Lauren swallowed.

“Show me.”

“Lauren,” Mark said.

“I said, SHOW ME!”

The baker turned the screen toward her.

I watched my daughter’s face change as the footage played.

First confusion.

Then recognition.

Her lips parted.

“Oh my God.”

“You know her?” I asked.

Lauren nodded once.

“Her name is Tania.”

Mark closed his eyes.

Lauren stared at him.

“Why was she with you?”

He said nothing.

Her voice cracked.

“Why was she with you, Mark?”

Several guests began drifting away.

My sister quietly guided two children inside.

Nobody wanted to watch.

Nobody could quite look away.

Mark finally spoke.

“I was trying to fix something.”

Lauren stared at him.

“Fix what?”

He looked down.

I handed Lauren the envelope.

Her fingers trembled.

“Open it,” I said.

Mark stepped forward.

“Lauren, please.”

She backed away.

That hurt him.

I could see it.

But I also saw something else.

He had expected this moment eventually.

Just not today.

Lauren tore open the envelope.

Inside was a folded note.

And a photograph.

She pulled out the photograph first.

I couldn’t see it clearly from where I stood.

Lauren could.

The color drained from her face.

She gripped the table.

“Who is this child?”

Mark looked sick.

The baker glanced at me.

I stepped closer.

The photograph showed Mark beside Tania.

Between them stood a little girl.

She looked about three.

She had Mark’s eyes.

I knew before anyone said anything.

Lauren did too.

Her hand flew to her stomach.

“No,” she whispered.

Mark reached for her.

She recoiled.

“No.”

“Lauren, listen to me.”

“You have a daughter?”

His face crumpled.

“Yes.”

Nobody spoke.

The silence was unbearable.

Lauren looked at the photograph.

“How old is she?”

“Three and a half.”

My stomach turned.

Four years.

Lauren had spent four years trying to become a mother.

Two miscarriages.

Three failed treatments.

And during that time, Mark had fathered a child with someone else.

Lauren stared at him.

“You cheated on me?”

“Once.”

She laughed.

There was nothing happy about it.

“Once? Really?”