That black glove my future daughter-in-law was wearing always bothered me, and finally, I couldn’t resist taking it off. But what I discovered underneath revealed a truth I hadn’t expected at all.
My future daughter-in-law, Stacy, always wore a black glove on her right hand.
Not occasionally.
Always.
The first time I met her, I thought it had something to do with her job.
Stacy was a graphic designer.
She worked almost exclusively from home.
Most of the time, according to my son, she would sit at the dining room table drawing on an iPad for hours.
So I thought to myself that this glove was a special artist’s item.
A trick to prevent your hand from rubbing against the screen.
Except that she also wore it when she wasn’t working.
She wore it to dinner.
She wore it on my birthday.
She even wore it to a summer barbecue, with a sleeveless yellow dress and sandals.
The black glove stood out so much that three different people discreetly asked me about it.
I had no answer.
It covered his entire right hand and stopped just beyond his wrist.
Stacy never drew attention to it.
On the contrary, she even seemed to be trying to avoid him.
Every time someone asked her the question, she smiled.
« Oh, it’s just simpler this way. »
Then she would change the subject.
At first, I thought it was none of my business.
Otherwise, Stacy was adorable.
Cultivated.
Polite.
Funny, in his own discreet way.
And incredibly patient with my son, August.
She remembered the birthdays.
She always brought something when she came to our house.
Once, she spent almost an entire afternoon helping my husband recover photos he had accidentally deleted from his computer.
I really liked him.
Then August proposed to Stacy.
He called me before he’d even told most of his friends.
« She said yes, Mom. »
I screamed so loudly that my husband came running from the garage.
I was over the moon.
Really.
But as soon as the wedding became a reality, that stupid glove started bothering me more than ever.
My husband has repeatedly told me to give up.
« She doesn’t owe us an explanation about her hand. »
« But don’t you find that strange? »
» No. »
« Don’t you find it strange that we’re about to become his family and we’ve never even seen his right hand? »
He shrugged.
« Perhaps there’s a reason why she doesn’t want people to see her. »
That was precisely what was bothering me.
There was a reason.
And nobody seemed to know which one.
Finally, I asked August directly.
He was standing in my kitchen, eating grapes that had come out of the fridge.
« What’s wrong with Stacy’s hand? »
He stopped chewing.
» Nothing. »
« So why is she wearing a glove? »
His face changed expression.
Barely.
But I saw it.
« Mom, stop. »
« So you know about it? »
« I said, ‘Stop.’ »
This response only made things worse.
For weeks after that, my imagination ran wild.
A health problem.
A horrible scar.
Something from his past.
Something that could harm August.
I realize now how ridiculous some of my thoughts had become.
But at the time, I kept repeating the same thing to myself.
She was about to become part of our family.
And clearly, there was something August didn’t want anyone to know.
And I was determined to find out why.
A few months before the wedding, August and Stacy came to spend a long weekend with us.
On Saturday afternoon, August and my husband went out to get something to eat.
Stacy stayed with me.
We had a coffee.
We talked about wedding invitations.
We had a joking argument about whether someone really needed 12 different shades of cream-colored cardstock.
Then we put on a movie.
About halfway through the movie, Stacy fell asleep.
Her right hand was resting beside her.
She was still wearing her glove.
I watched it longer than I would ever admit.
I knew I shouldn’t have touched him.
I even got up.
I went into the kitchen.
I poured myself a glass of water.
Then I came back.
She was still asleep.
And curiosity took over.
I thought I’d just take a quick look for a second.
That’s all.
I sat down cautiously on the edge of the sofa.
I grabbed the glove at his wrist.
And I pulled gently.
Stacy moved a little.
I froze.
She didn’t wake up.
So I continued.
The glove slipped down his palm.
Then on her fingers.
And I just stared at his hand.
There was nothing abnormal about his hand.
No missing fingers.
No burns.
No horrible scar.
Nothing.
For one absurd second, I was disappointed.
Then I noticed his ring finger.
Originally, in small black numbers, there was a date.
June 14th.
Eight years earlier.
I held my breath.
A wedding date?
A wedding anniversary?
I had a knot in my stomach.
Was she already married?
Did August know about this?
Was that what everyone had been hiding?
Behind me, Stacy inhaled sharply.
I turned around.
Her eyes were open.
For half a second, she didn’t understand what she was seeing.
Then she looked at her hand.
The glove I was holding in mine.
She turned completely pale.
I expected her to get angry.
Instead, she looked humiliated.
Completely humiliated.
She snatched the glove from my hands and put it back on her fingers.
Quickly.
« Stacy, I… »
« Did he tell you that? »
I kept quiet.
» What ? »
She stared at me.
« Did August tell you that? »
« Tell me what? »
His expression has changed.
It was as if something inside her had collapsed.
» Oh. »
That’s all.
» Oh. »
But there was more to it than that.
She stood up.
Me too.
« I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… »
» No. »
She was now tightening the glove securely around her wrist.
» How are you. »
« This isn’t going well. »
» No. »
She looked at me.
« Absolutely not. »
That shut me up.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then I said what I shouldn’t have said.
« Were you married? »
Stacy closed her eyes.
» No. »
« But the date… »
« I wasn’t married. »
« Engaged? »
Silence.
Then she nodded.
» Yes. »
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
An old engagement.
That was all.
Awkward, perhaps.
Painful.
But not a secret marriage.
« Why didn’t you just tell me? »
She even laughed.
Not because there was anything funny about it.
« Because it’s not a subject I like to talk about. »
I looked at the glove.
« The date? »
She followed my gaze.
« I was 22 years old. »
Her voice softened.
« I thought it was romantic to put the date on my hand. »
I didn’t know what to answer to that.
« Was that supposed to be your wedding day? »
» Yes. »
« What happened? »
She looked away.
« He told me he had changed his mind. »
« About the wedding? »
Stacy looked at me again.
« About me. »
It shook me up more than I expected.
I sat down.
Not her.
For a few seconds, the film continued to play behind us.
Someone on TV was laughing.
I found it obscene.
« Sorry, » I said.
Stacy shrugged.
« That was a long time ago. »
But his hand had closed around her wrist.
Around the glove.
« Have you worn that ring for a long time? »
« Almost a year. »
« After the breakup? »
She agreed.
» For what ? »
Her lips tightened.
» I don’t know. »
Then, in a softer voice: « I couldn’t get it off. »
Something shifted inside me.
I had spent months wondering what Stacy was hiding.
Now I was ashamed of having pushed her to explain herself.
I looked towards the corridor.
« Does August know about this? »
Stacy gave me a strange look.
« He knows everything. »
That bothered me immediately.
Not because August knew.
But because of the way she said it.
Of course he knew everything.
Not « yes, I told him/her »,
« He knows everything. »
I frowned.
« Does your ex-fiancé know you’re getting married now? »
Stacy stared at me.
» Yes. »
« Are you still in contact with him? »
Another strange look.
» Yes. »
But I still didn’t understand the truth.
And my suspicions resurfaced with force.
« Stacy. »
She sighed.
Then she went to her handbag.
« I really wish August had told you that. »
She took out her phone.
She tapped the screen several times.
Then she handed it to me.
There was a photo.
It’s old enough that the colors look a bit faded.
Stacy was younger.
Much younger.
Her hair was longer.
She was standing in front of what looked like a restaurant.
She was laughing.
His right hand was raised towards the camera.
A ring was clearly visible.
And next to her was a young man.
He had his arm around his waist.
His face turned towards hers.
I stared at him.
Then closer up.
My heart sank.
I recognized that face.
I had hundreds of photos of it.
Birthday photos.
School photos.
Christmas mornings.
The graduation ceremony.
« There was no other man, » Stacy said.
I watched it.
« It was him. »
My son.
August.
I looked at the photo again.
Then Stacy.
« Were you engaged to August? »
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