She bent to pick up the paper that had been blown into the pachysandra. Oh, a letter:
and I’ve wanted to tell you for years that you have a son, but I couldn’t bring myself to call you since you married Helena.
The wind blew around her as she gripped the paper. “Is that what I had?” she thought to herself. “A son?” Her jaw and stomach clenched as she remembered the day she miscarried.