After Grant died, Audrey tried to protect her adopted daughter from the truth about his affair.

A loud knock on the door made both of us jump.

"Time's up!" Margaret's voice from the hallway. "Open up!"

I quickly stuffed the letter and the new will into my pocket, then closed the metal box and pushed it under the desk, covering it with a stack of old folders.

"Did you find it?" Lena whispered urgently.

I looked at her.

She was young. Scared. Pregnant with my husband's baby.

But she was also Margaret's pawn. And I didn't know if I could trust her.

"Find what?" I said.

"The will," she said. "Did you find a new will?"

The door handle rattled.

"Audrey! Open this door right now!"

I stood up.

"Nothing," I said. "Just old papers. No new will."

Lena stared at me. She knew I was lying. I could see it in her eyes.

But she didn't say anything.

I walked to the door and unlocked it.

Margaret burst in, her eyes wild.

"Well? Did you find it?"

I shook my head.

"Nothing. Just the old will. The one from the funeral."

Margaret pushed past me and stormed into the office, looking around frantically. She started yanking open drawers, throwing papers onto the floor.

"Where is it?" she screamed. "He told me he changed it! He told me!"

She turned to Lena.

"Did she hide something? Did you see her put anything in her pocket?"

Lena looked at me, then at Margaret.

"No," she said quietly. "She didn't hide anything. We looked everywhere. There's no new will."

Margaret's face turned red with rage.

"You're lying!" she screamed at Lena. "Both of you! You're lying!"

She turned back to the desk, her eyes scanning the surface. Then she looked down.

The floor under the desk.

Where I had pushed the metal box.

She knelt down.

My heart stopped.

Her hand reached under the desk.

And then Poppy's voice came from the doorway.

"Grandma?"

Margaret froze. She looked up.

Poppy stood in the doorway, holding her stuffed rabbit.

"Why are you yelling?"

Margaret's face softened. For a second, I thought I saw the grandmother she used to be—the one who would bake cookies with Poppy, who would read her bedtime stories, who loved her like her own.

But then it was gone. Replaced by that cold, hard look.

"I'm not yelling, dear," Margaret said, standing up. "Grandma is just... frustrated."

She walked to the doorway, stopping in front of Poppy.

"You know, Poppy," she said, her voice sweet as poison. "When the new baby comes, things are going to change. You'll understand when you're older."

Poppy looked up at her, confused.

"Change how?"