Chapter 3
The car ride home was silent.
Noah had cried himself to sleep in the backseat five minutes after we left the hotel.
His cheeks were still streaked with tears.
I kept checking the rearview mirror.
Half expecting to see Ethan’s black SUV behind me.
He wasn’t there.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be.
I pulled into the driveway of the small suburban house I’d kept after the divorce.
The house Ethan had signed over to me in exchange for me not asking for more alimony.
The house where he still kept a drawer of old things in the guest room.
The drawer where Noah had found the velvet box.
I carried Noah inside.
Changed him into his dinosaur pajamas.
Tucked him into bed.
Kissed his forehead.
He stirred.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here, baby.”
“Is Dad mad at me?”
My heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
I sat on the edge of his bed.
Stroked his hair.
“No, sweetie. Dad is not mad at you. Not even a little bit.”
“Then why did he yell?”
Because he’s a coward, I almost said.
Because he got caught.
Because he’s been living a lie for so long he doesn’t know how to tell the truth anymore.
“Dad was just surprised,” I said instead. “That’s all. Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes. And when they get caught, they don’t know how to act.”
Noah thought about this.
His seven-year-old brain working overtime to make sense of something no adult should ever have to understand.
“Is the wedding still happening?”
“No, baby. It’s not.”
“Is Dad sad?”
“I think so.”
“Will he be okay?”
I kissed his forehead again.
“Your dad is going to have to figure some things out. But that’s his job, not yours. Your only job is to be seven. To play with your Legos. To love your mom. Okay?”
Noah nodded.
His eyes were already closing.
“Okay, Mommy.”
“Love you, Noah.”
“Love you too.”
I waited until his breathing evened out.
Then I quietly left his room.
Closed the door partway.
Stood in the hallway for a long minute.
My hands were shaking.
I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or adrenaline or something else entirely.
I walked down the hall to the guest room.
The room Ethan still called “his” even though he hadn’t slept here in two and a half years.
The room with the drawer.
I flipped on the light.
It looked exactly the same as it had the day he moved out.
Same navy blue comforter.
Same framed football jersey on the wall.
Same oak dresser with the brass handles.
I walked to the dresser.
Pulled open the top drawer on the right.
The one Noah had gotten into.
It was mostly empty now.
A few old t-shirts.
A baseball cap.
A paperback book he’d never finished.
Noah must have dug to the very back to find the velvet box.
I ran my hand along the bottom of the drawer.
Felt something.
A loose corner of wood.
I pulled at it.
The entire bottom panel shifted.
It was a false bottom.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I lifted the panel out.
Underneath was a stack of papers held together by a rubber band.
And a second velvet box.
Identical to the one Noah had given Madison.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped everything.
I set the second velvet box aside.
Pried the rubber band off the papers.
The first thing I saw was a birth certificate.
My breath caught in my throat.
I read it three times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Name: Emily Grace Carter.
Date of Birth: March 17th.
Two years ago.
Father’s name: Ethan Michael Carter.
Mother’s name: Danielle Marie Bennett.
The room spun.
I gripped the edge of the mattress to keep from falling over.
Emily.
Not a mistress.
A daughter.
Ethan had a two-year-old daughter I’d never heard of.
With a woman named Danielle Bennett.
I flipped to the next paper.
A paternity test.
99.99% probability of paternity.
Dated two and a half years ago.
Right around the time Ethan had moved out.
Right around the time he’d told me he “needed space to figure things out.”
Next: child support documents.
Monthly payments of eighteen hundred dollars.
Dated back two years.
Every single month.
Withdrawn from the same account he used to pay Noah’s child support.
The same account he’d told me was “running low” when I’d asked for help with Noah’s private school tuition last year.
The same account he’d used to buy Madison’s engagement ring.
I felt sick.
I leaned forward.
Put my head between my knees.
Breathed in and out.
In and out.
When I could breathe again, I reached for the second velvet box.
Opened it.
Another diamond ring.
Smaller than the one Noah had found.
But still real.
Still expensive.
There was no note in this one.
But I didn’t need one.
I already knew who it was for.
Danielle Bennett.
The mother of his daughter.
Ethan hadn’t just been cheating on Madison.
He’d been living two separate lives.
For three years.
Maybe longer.
One life with me and Noah.
One life with Danielle and Emily.
And then he’d tried to add a third life with Madison.
Three women.
Two children.
None of them knowing about the others.
I heard a car pull into the driveway.
Tires on gravel.
Doors opening and closing.
I stood up.
Papers in one hand.
Ring box in the other.
Walked to the window.
Looked out.
Ethan was standing by my front door.
He wasn’t alone.
A woman stood next to him.
Early thirties.
Long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Jeans and a sweater.
Holding the hand of a little girl with blonde pigtails.
The little girl looked just like Noah.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same crooked smile when she talked.
My blood turned to ice in my veins.
Danielle Bennett.
And Emily.
They had come to my house.
At ten o’clock at night.
With Ethan.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Ethan’s voice carried through the closed window.
“Sarah? I know you’re in there. We need to talk. All of us.”
I looked down at the birth certificate in my hand.
At the name Emily Grace Carter.
At Ethan’s signature at the bottom.
Then I looked back out the window.
At the little girl who was my son’s sister.
At the woman who had been sharing my ex-husband for three years.
At the man who had lied to every single person who had ever loved him.
I took a deep breath.
May you like
Squared my shoulders.
And walked toward the door.
