Chapter 3 - The Folder Martha Brought to Threaten Her
Emma did not open the door.
Martha knocked harder.
“I know you’re in there.”
Daniel moved behind Emma.
“Don’t let them in.”
Emma looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because Andrew never comes here unless Mom wants something.”
Martha knocked again.
“Emma, sweetheart, we should handle this like adults.”
Emma almost laughed.
She opened the security application and activated the hallway camera.
Then she spoke through the door.
“What do you want?”
Martha answered.
“To stop you from making a terrible mistake.”
“You already made one.”
“Sophie will survive.”
Daniel flinched.
Emma’s voice went cold.
“You should leave now.”
Andrew finally spoke.
“Emma, listen to me. There are legal issues you don’t understand.”
“About Ethan?”
Silence.
That was enough.
Emma continued.
“Who is his father?”
Andrew looked at Martha.
The camera captured it.
Martha stepped closer.
“If you open this door, I’ll explain everything.”
Daniel shook his head.
Emma ignored him.
“Slide the folder underneath.”
Martha’s face hardened.
“No.”
“Then we’re done.”
Emma turned away.
Martha struck the door with her palm.
“Do you think Ethan is yours?”
Emma stopped.
Daniel whispered, “Mom.”
Martha continued.
“Do you think feeding him and buying him clothes made you his mother?”
Emma turned back.
“What’s in the folder?”
Martha smiled.
“Your replacement.”
Daniel moved toward the door.
“That’s enough.”
Martha’s smile widened.
“You should have told her years ago.”
Emma looked at Daniel.
He stared at the floor.
Something cold crawled through her chest.
“Replacement for what?”
Andrew muttered, “Mom, stop.”
Martha ignored him.
“For you.”
Emma’s breathing slowed.
Martha lifted the folder toward the peephole.
Inside the transparent sleeve on the front was a photograph.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
Holding newborn Ethan.
Emma leaned closer.
The woman was not Rebecca.
Emma knew Rebecca’s face.
She had seen hundreds of photographs.
This woman was different.
On the back of the image, visible through the plastic, someone had written:
Ethan and Laura.
Emma turned.
Daniel looked terrified.
“Who is Laura?”
He did not answer.
Martha did.
“Open the door.”
Emma unlocked it.
Daniel grabbed her wrist.
“Emma.”
She pulled away.
“I’m finished being the only person in this room who doesn’t know what happened.”
She opened the door.
Martha entered first.
Andrew followed.
He was forty-three now, broad-shouldered and prematurely gray, with a face that always seemed exhausted.
Martha placed the folder on the table.
“Before we begin,” she said, “you need to understand that everything Daniel did was for Ethan.”
Emma opened the folder.
Birth records.
Bank statements.
Medical forms.
A private adoption petition that had never been completed.
Then one document stopped her.
DNA PATERNITY PROBABILITY: 99.9987 percent.
Alleged father:
Daniel Miller.
Emma stared at the page.
The apartment disappeared around her.
She heard Daniel say her name.
She did not look up.
She read it again.
Daniel Miller.
Not Andrew.
Not some unknown stranger.
Daniel.
Her husband.
Ethan’s father.
Emma lifted her head.
“How?”
Daniel’s eyes were wet.
Martha answered for him.
“Before you.”
Emma looked at the dates.
Ethan had been conceived almost four months before she met Daniel.
That should have made it simpler.
It did not.
Because Daniel had told her Rebecca was Ethan’s mother.
The photograph said Laura.
The DNA report said Daniel was the father.
And suddenly eight years of her marriage looked like a stage set.
Emma whispered, “Rebecca wasn’t his mother.”
“No,” Martha said.
“Then who was she?”
“A convenient name.”
Andrew turned away.
Emma stared at him.
“You knew too.”
Andrew said nothing.
Emma looked at Daniel.
“Who is Laura?”
Daniel’s voice cracked.
“Someone I loved.”
The words landed harder than the slap Emma had given Martha.
Not because he had loved someone before her.
Because of the way he said it.
Still loved.
Emma closed the folder.
“Where is she?”
No one answered.
Emma repeated the question.
Martha looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at Andrew.
Andrew looked at the floor.
Emma understood.
“You’re all afraid of that question.”
Martha’s composure returned.
“Laura disappeared.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Before or after Rebecca died?”
Martha said nothing.
Emma stepped toward her.
“Martha.”
Andrew finally said, “The same night.”
Emma looked at him.
Andrew’s face was gray.
“Rebecca died at 11:40 p.m.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“Laura vanished sometime before midnight.”
