“My name is Daniel,” the man said finally, setting the grocery bag on the hood of his SUV with shaking hands. “And I think I just ruined a surprise.” I stared at him. “What surprise?” He rubbed his beard, glanced at my wedding ring, and whispered, “Please tell me your wife’s name is Elena.” My mouth went dry. I nodded, and he closed his eyes as if bracing for a blow.

“She is my sister,” he said. “Half-sister. Elena found me three months ago through a DNA test, and we have been meeting every Wednesday, because she wanted to tell you at your anniversary dinner.” The streetlights flickered on. Behind him, the front door of his house opened, and two small girls in pajamas ran out shouting, “Aunt Elena’s husband is here!”