A Photo of My Late Wife Held a Hidden Secret — What Fell Out Left Me Stunned

I Was Looking At a Photo of My Late Wife and Me When Something Fell Out of the Frame and Made Me Go Pale

All I had left on the day I buried Emily were our pictures and our memories. However, my hands began to shake as something fell out from behind our engagement photo that evening. What I found led me to wonder if I had really known my wife at all.

Our front entrance had a black ribbon affixed by the funeral home. I wondered who had deemed that necessary as I gazed at it with my key hanging in the lock.
As though the neighbors were unaware that I had spent the entire afternoon at the cemetery, where Rev. Matthews spoke of angels and eternal rest, while I watched my wife being lowered into the earth.

When I eventually opened the door, my hands were shaking. The smell of sympathy casseroles and leather polish filled the house.

While I was at the hospital in those last days, Emily’s sister Jane had “helped” by cleaning. My teeth ached from the unnatural brilliance with which everything now shined.

“Home sweet home, right, Em?” Automatically, I called out, but then I caught myself. The response of silence was like a punch to the body.

I kicked off my dress shoes and undid the blue tie Emily had gotten me for Christmas. They thudded dullly on the wall.

Emily would have chastised me for that, trying not to smile as she lectured me about scuff marks and pulling her lips together the way she had.

I said, “Sorry, honey,” but I didn’t touch the shoes.

Compared to the rest of the house, our bedroom was worse. The fresh linen smell only served to highlight the fact that Emily’s perfume was no longer there, even though Jane had changed the sheets—likely in an attempt to be nice.

The casual chaos that had characterized our existence together was erased when the hospital corners were used to make the bed and all the wrinkles were smoothed out.

I said, “This isn’t real,” to the empty space. “This can’t be real.”

However, it was. It was demonstrated by the condolence cards on the dresser and the medications on the bedside that ultimately proved insufficient to rescue her.

Everything had happened so abruptly. Despite being ill last year, Em persevered. She suffered greatly from chemotherapy, but I stayed by her side the entire time. Eventually, the cancer went into remission.

We believed that we had won. A check-up later revealed that it had returned and was all over.

Even though Em battled valiantly to the very end, it was ultimately a lost struggle. Now I could see that.

Without bothering to change out of my funeral attire, I collapsed onto her side of the bed. Her shape was no longer even retained by the mattress. Did Jane flip it? I became irrationally enraged at the thought.

I mumbled, “Fifteen years,” into Emily’s pillow. “This is how it ends after fifteen years? casseroles in the refrigerator and a ribbon on the door?”

The silver frame in the late afternoon light caught my attention as I looked at our engagement picture. Emily’s chuckle was interrupted when I twirled her around because she looked so vibrant in it, her yellow sundress shining against the summer sky.

I seized it because I wanted to be nearer to that instant and the happiness we shared at that time.

“Do you recall that day, Em? You claimed that our spirits will be captured on video. claimed that the reason you detested having your photo taken was because—”

Something behind the frame seized my fingers.

Under the backing, there was a bulge that wasn’t supposed to be there.

I scowled as I traced it once more. I squeezed the backing loose without giving it any thought. Something escaped, drifting like a leaf to the carpet.

My heart stopped beating.

Once more, it was an old photograph, slightly curled as though it had been handled a lot before being put away.

Emily was seated in a hospital bed with a newborn wrapped in a pink blanket in the picture. My goodness, she looked so young.

I had never seen her face before; it was tired and afraid, but it also had a strong love that left me speechless.

I was unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Whose baby was this? Emily and I tried, but we were never able to conceive.

I turned the picture around with shaking fingers. Shakier than I realized, Emily’s penmanship read, “Mama will always love you.”

There was a phone number underneath that.

“What?” The word sounded like a croak. “Emily, what is this?”

The only way to know was to ask.

I didn’t care that it was already midnight as I dialed, the phone feeling heavy in my fingers. Like a church bell, each clang reverberated in my mind.

“Hello?” A woman responded in a kind but wary tone.

“I’m sorry for calling so late.” I thought my voice sounded weird. “James is my name. I just discovered this number on a picture of my wife Emily holding a baby.

I believed she had hung up because the stillness was so long.

She finally murmured, “Oh,” so quietly that I nearly missed it. “Oh, James. For years, I have been anticipating this call. Emily hasn’t contacted me in a very long time.

“Emily died.” The words had an ashy taste. “The funeral was today.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke with sincere sorrow. “My name is Sarah. Lily, Emily’s kid, was adopted by me.

The room slanted to one side. I held on to the bed’s edge. “Daughter?”

“She was nineteen,” said Sarah softly. “A college freshman. She was aware that she couldn’t offer the child the life she was due. It was the most difficult choice she had ever made.

I said, “We tried for years to have children,” my grief suddenly pierced by rage. “Years of therapies, experts, and letdowns. Prior to me, she never mentioned having a child. Never.

Sarah remarked, “She was terrified,” “Frightened you’d leave, afraid you’d judge her. James, she loved you very much. We sometimes do impossible things out of love.

I closed my eyes and recalled the tears she shed throughout fertility treatments and the way she would hold on to my hand too tightly every time we went by a playground.

I questioned how much of that was due to her desire for the daughter she gave up, as I had previously assumed it was because we were both so desperate to have a kid.

“Tell me about her,” I began to say to myself. “Tell me about Lily.”

Sarah’s voice became more cheerful. She is now twenty-five years old. A teacher in kindergarten, if you believe that. She laughs like Emily and has a way with people. She is aware of Emily and has always understood she was adopted. Would you be interested in meeting her?

“Of course!” was my response.

I was too anxious to touch my coffee the following morning, so I sat at a corner booth at a café. I looked up when the bell above the door chimed.

It felt as though someone had punched you in the chest.

She smiled and had Emily’s eyes. As she looked around the room, she even tucked her hair behind her ear, just like Em would have. We both knew when our eyes locked.

“James?” Her tone faltered.

I almost toppled my chair when I stood up. “Lily.”

As if she had been waiting all her life to embrace me, she hurried forward and did so. I embraced her, inhaling the aroma of her shampoo, which was lavender, exactly like Emily’s.

She mumbled, “I can’t believe you’re here,” on my shoulder. “When Mom called this morning… I’ve always wondered about you, about what kind of man my mother married.”

We spoke for hours. She showed me photos of her kitten, her first classroom, and her college graduation on her phone. I told her about Emily, our relationship, and the lady her mother had grown into.

Lily said, “She used to send Mom birthday cards for me every year,” as she wiped away her tears.
“We never spoke, but Mom told me she used to call now and then to ask how I was doing.”

I had a new perspective on Emily’s secret after seeing this lovely, intelligent young lady with Emily’s generosity gleaming in her eyes.

She had been silent for reasons other than fear or humiliation. By allowing Lily to have a secure life with Sarah, she had been defending her. Em must have felt a great deal of pain in keeping this a secret, but she had done it because she loved her child.

I remarked, “I wish I’d known sooner,” as I extended my hand to Lily. However, I believe I now know why she kept it from me. I’m so sad you can’t meet her, but please know that I’m always available to you.

Lily gave my fingers a squeeze. Would it be possible for us to repeat this? Become more acquainted with one another?”

“I’d like that,” I answered, experiencing the first warm bloom in my chest since Emily’s passing. “I’d like that very much.”

I put the secret photograph on the nightstand that night, next to the one of us getting engaged.

Emily always had love in her eyes when she smiled at me, whether she was young or old, before or after. Through the glass, I touched her face.

The words “You did good, Em,” I muttered. “You performed a great job. And I’ll take care of her, I swear. by both of you.