My hands trembled as I pulled open the drawer where my husband, Dorian, kept his things. Deep inside, hidden beneath layers of other papers, was a document. I unfolded it slowly. It was the name–change form, and there, in black and white, was the name of a boy–one my husband had brought into our lives–and beneath it, his last name: my husband’s.
My heart slammed against my ribs, and my fingers clenched around the paper. The memories of that day came rushing back. It was our fifth wedding anniversary–Dorian’s and mine. I had spent the day preparing for what I hoped would be a quiet, intimate celebration, looking forward to a special evening together. But just as I was finishing, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door, expecting Dorian, but instead, there he stood, with a young boy and a woman.
“Aurelia and her son just moved in. They’ll be staying with us for a while.”
