Paisley

“Dear, I can’t find my tie.”
“Which one?”
“The paisley blue one.”
Abigail burst into tears.
“Abby, what’s wrong? It’s okay. I don’t need it. I can wear another.”
Abigail continued to sob and with each breath her sobs crescendoed. This was clearly not about the tie, Aaron knew. But what? Abigail was too fraught with emotion to tell him.
He walked out from the closet and into their bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, her body heaving with each breath, tears streaming down her face.
They’d been married only six months, engaged six months before that, and dating two years before that. In those three years, he’d never seen such a display of emotion. She wasn’t stoic. She did cry over a good romance novel or a Renee Zellweger film, but nothing like this.
He sat down next to her on the bed and put his arm around her. She bristled at his touch. “This isn’t about the tie, is it?”
“Oh, Aaron! Oh, Aaron!”
“What, Abby? What is it? You can tell me anything. Is it something I did?”
“No,” she choked the word out. “It’s—it’s—it’s something I did.”
“What? You can tell me. We’ll figure it out.”
“No, there’s nothing to figure out. It was figured out long ago, years before we met.”
“What is it? You can tell me.”
Abigail’s breathes softened. She began to compose herself for what she knew she must divulge to her husband. “Her name was Paisley. I only knew her for a day. She’d be ten now. No, she is ten. I’m sure she’s out there… somewhere…” Her words drifted off along with her gaze.
“Who?” Aaron asked.
“My daughter.”