My husband passed away after 62 years of marriage. At his funeral, a young girl approached me, handed me an envelope, and said, "He asked me to give this to you today."

Inside were children's drawings tied with faded ribbons, birthday cards addressed to "Dear Harold", school certificates and dozens of carefully preserved letters.

They all ended with the same name:   Virginia.

At the bottom, there was a worn file. I opened it slowly.

Documents dating back 65 years have revealed that Harold had discreetly taken in a young woman and her little girl after the father's disappearance. He paid their rent, then their school fees, and provided them with a modest monthly allowance for years. Every letter the woman wrote to him was carefully preserved.

One thought haunted me:   Harold had another family. A life he had hidden from me for six decades.

They all ended with the same name: Virginia.

I sat on the floor in that garage and put both hands over my mouth.

"Oh, my God," I whispered. "Harold, what have you done?"

I heard tires squealing on the gravel outside.

A bicycle skidded and came to a stop. When I turned towards the open door, the young girl from the funeral was there, slightly out of breath, her cheeks red from pedaling.

"I thought you would come here," she said.

"Did you follow me?"

The young girl from the funeral was there.