Ten years ago I made a mistake. I slept with my husband’s younger brother, Dan. It ballooned from there. One night taken in by a younger guy with cute smile, became a months long affair. It ended when my husband found out. He didn’t hesitate to divorce me and disown Dan. I let myself get taken in and ended up marrying Dan.

Dan convinced me to give up my parental rights to my two perfect children. My daughter, Stacy, was four when the divorce happened. She was a ballerina. She danced all over the house every day. She leapt and twirled. I haven’t seen her in ten years.

My son was nine. I’d named him Hank after a childhood crush. He was a bit nerdy, a love of video games and collectible card games. He wrote me a letter when he was 14 telling me how much it hurt that I’d given up my rights, that I didn’t want to see him, that I didn’t love him. I’d written him back explaining how wrong all that was and received the letter back stamped Return to Sender.

I’d given up my rights cause Dan said we should focus on OUR children. They never came. I’d gone through fertility tests and drugs. I tried In Vitro. A month ago I’d suggested trying a surrogate and the truth came out. Dan had a vasectomy when he was 20 ... a year before our affair began. I’d given up my children under the auspice of more and that had been a lie.

I filed for divorce the next day. Today, I’m going to fix my mistake. I won’t get my husband back. I’m not stupid. Dan had mentioned his mother had gone to the wedding, but I can get my children back. That’s what led me back to Cherry Hill.

My husband had inherited the house next to the cemetery from his grandmother and there was no way he’d ever leave it. I’d parked out front and knocked on the same heavy wood door.

After the third time I knocked a woman answered. She was tall, amazonesque with short brown hair and out of place green eyes, “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Michael or my children Stacy and Hank.”

She seemed taken aback by the request and I thought I saw a tear fall, “You’re Amber. Right?” I nodded and she sniffled, “I’ll go get my husband.”

She shut the door in my face. After twenty minutes, Michael came to the door. He opened it and stepped out. He was still so much taller than Dan, but now he had the tiniest hint of a pot belly and some streaks of grey just over his ears.

“Why did you come here, Amber?”

His tone was harsh ... I should’ve expected that, but I’d let myself believe he’d have forgiven me in the intervening years. I answered, “I just want to see my children.”

“And you asked about Stacy?’ He was shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“Of course, I want to see Stacy and Hank ... I made a mistake and I want to make it up them.”

“He’s at university. I’ll text Henry and ask if he’s willing to speak to you. He doesn’t go by Hank and hasn’t in 9 years.”

“Fine. What about Stacy?”

“You don’t know? I know Mom told Dan ... cause she’d wanted to see you.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, “Have a seat on the swing. I’ll text Henry ... after he responds I’ll walk you over to her.”

“Can’t we go now?” He tapped away at his phone. I held out my hand, “Let me see what you wrote ... I want to make sure you aren’t trying to poison him against me.”

He looked at me with disgust then handed me his phone. The text read, “Your mother, Amber is here and wants to know if you’ll talk to her.”

I didn’t even time to hand the phone back before a message came back that read, “Tell that Bitch I said she should fuck off and die.” I handed him back the phone.

He glanced at it, “If you leave your number, I’ll give it to him in case he ever changes his mind. I wouldn’t count on it. Well, let’s go.”

“Go where? Is she in the house?” She’d be 14 ... she couldn’t be far. “Dance lessons?”

He walked past the gate and next door the Cherry Hill cemetery. I followed as he went a sense of dread over coming me, “She’s playing in the cemetery?”

“I told Mom to call Dan when she got sick. She begged to see you. I know Mom begged Dan. I’m guessing the message never got to you.”

No! No! No! No! “Sick how?”

“It’s this row. Five in. Leukemia. She got sick when she was nine ... she survived till she was eleven.”

I counted the stones ... And at five it read, Stacy Amber Hughes. Beloved Daughter, Beloved Dancer. April, 14 2005 to August 19, 2016.

My husband said from the end of the row, “I’ll leave you to it. I was just here yesterday.”