My Husband Was Kissing My Mother in Our Bed—Then I Discovered Why He Had Married Me

I didn't unlock the car.

Daniel stood outside my window with the photograph pressed against the glass. My mother hovered behind him, looking from me to the street as if she expected someone to appear at any moment.

I called Detective Harris again.

"He's here.""

"Who?""

"Daniel. He's outside my car.""

"Stay inside. Officers are on their way.""

Daniel tapped the window.

I ignored him.

My phone vibrated with another incoming call. Marcus Bell.

I answered without taking my eyes off Daniel.

"Tell me what happened to Laura.""

"Not over the phone.""

"Everyone keeps saying that. I'm done waiting.""

"Emily, if Daniel is there, don't let him show you any documents. He has a habit of presenting half the truth as the whole story.""

I watched Daniel step back and gesture toward my mother.

She approached the driver's side window.

"Emily, darling, please open the door.""

I almost laughed at the word darling.

"You don't get to call me that anymore.""

She pressed her palm against the glass.

"I know you're angry.""

"Angry? You lied about giving birth to me. You helped conceal my father's disappearance.

You took money that belonged to me. And you slept with my husband.""

Her face crumpled.

"I never wanted things to happen this way.""

"Then why did you let them?""

She glanced at Daniel.

He gave her a sharp look, and she immediately stepped away from the window.

That small exchange told me she was still afraid of him.

Or perhaps she was afraid of what he knew.

Daniel crouched beside my door.

"Emily, please. I can explain the photograph.""

"Then explain it through the window.""

He held it up again.

The woman in the photograph looked to be about twenty years old. She had my dark eyes, the same narrow chin, and a small crescent-shaped scar above her left eyebrow.

I had the same scar.

My mother had always told me I'd gotten it from falling off a bicycle when I was four.

I touched my eyebrow.

"Who gave me this scar?"" I asked.

Daniel's expression changed.

"Laura.""

My throat tightened.

"What happened?""

He glanced toward Patricia.

"Your mother—Patricia—wasn't there when it happened. Laura was holding you outside a hospital when a security guard rushed past. She fell, and your head struck the pavement.""

"Why didn't anyone tell me?""

"Because you were taken from the hospital before the police could finish questioning everyone.""

I stared at him.

"Taken?""

He corrected himself quickly.

"Your father removed you from the situation. He believed Laura was unstable and couldn't care for you.""

"Was she?""

Daniel looked away.

"That's what Richard told us.""

"Us?""

"My family.""

I felt sick.

"Your family knew about me?""

He nodded.

"Laura spent years trying to find you. She hired investigators. She contacted lawyers. She even went to the courts, but the records had been altered.""

"And you helped my father stop her?""

"I was young. I believed him.""

"How young?""

"Twenty-six.""

I shook my head.

"You're asking me to believe that a twenty-six-year-old man spent years helping his sister search for a missing child, then accepted half a million dollars to marry that child when she grew up?""

He didn't answer.

I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel.

The whole story was too monstrous to absorb at once.

When I looked up, Daniel was holding the photograph against the glass again.

"Turn it over," I said.

He did.

The writing was now visible.

Emily was born at 2:14 a.m. on March 19. Laura Bennett is her biological mother. I, Richard Thompson, acknowledge that I removed the child from Laura's care without obtaining her informed consent.

Below the statement was my father's signature.

I read it twice.

Then I looked at Daniel.

"Why would my father write this?""

"Because he regretted what he'd done.""

"Did he ever try to return me to her?""

Daniel shook his head.

"He was afraid.""

"Of what?""

"Of losing everything.""

Before I could respond, a police cruiser pulled into the lot.

Daniel stepped away from the car.

Two officers approached him, and Detective Harris followed a moment later.

"Mr. Hayes," Harris said, "I thought I told you to stay away from Mrs. Thompson.""

Daniel raised his hands.

"I just wanted to speak with my wife.""

"She's clearly not interested.""

Harris took the photograph from him.

"What's this?""

"Evidence," Daniel replied.

"Of what?""

"That Richard Thompson committed a crime.""

The detective studied the writing.

"Then you'll be pleased to provide a formal statement.""

Daniel nodded.

"Of course.""

Harris looked toward me.

"Mrs. Thompson, I'd like you to come to the station.""

I opened the car door.

"Before I do, I need to know something. Why was Daniel released?""

"Because the evidence we have doesn't yet establish that he committed a crime. His admission about the payment is significant, but we need more.""

I glanced at Daniel.

He was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.

I got out and followed the detective toward the cruiser.

Before I climbed inside, Daniel called after me.

"Emily!""

I stopped.

He took one step forward, but the officers blocked him.

"I never wanted you to get hurt.""

I looked at him.

"Then why did you marry me?""

His eyes filled with tears.

"Because I thought if I stayed close enough, I could stop your father from making the same mistake twice.""

"What mistake?""

Daniel swallowed.

"Taking someone away from the person who loved her.""

I stared at him.

For one brief second, I saw the man I'd married. The man who used to leave coffee beside my laptop when I worked late. The man who had held me through my father's memorial and promised I would never have to face the world alone.

Then I remembered him kissing my mother.

"Don't pretend this was love," I said.

I climbed into the cruiser.

At the station, Detective Harris placed the photograph in an evidence sleeve and asked me to describe the phone call from my father.

I told him everything.

When I mentioned the safe deposit box, he stopped writing.

"Do you have the key?""

I hesitated.

Then I placed it on the table.

Harris examined the tag.

"We'll need to obtain the appropriate authorization before opening the box.""

"I understand.""

He leaned back.

"There's something else. The property where the remains were found was sold three years ago to a company registered under a different name.""

"Whose company?""

"Daniel Bennett's.""

My stomach dropped.

"Daniel bought the property?""

"Yes. And the purchase was financed through an account that received money from the same estate involved in your case.""

I stared at the key.

Everything was connected.

The money. The forged signatures. The hidden body.

And Daniel had been at the center of it all.

Harris opened another folder.

"We also found a report filed by your biological mother six years ago. She reported you missing.""

I stopped breathing.

"What?""

"According to the report, Laura Bennett believed you had been taken from your home against your will.""

"Did she know where I lived?""

"Yes.""

"Then why didn't she come to me?""

Harris looked at the report.

"Because someone filed a restraining order against her.""

"Who?""

He turned the page toward me.

The petitioner was listed as Emily Thompson.

My signature appeared at the bottom.

I stared at it in disbelief.

"I never filed this.""

Harris nodded.

"We suspected that might be the case.""

He turned another page.

The restraining order had been submitted by an attorney representing me.

The attorney's name was Daniel Bennett.

I felt the room tilt.

My husband hadn't merely hidden my biological mother from me.

He had used my name to keep her away.

Harris closed the folder.

"Emily, there's one more thing you should know. Laura Bennett disappeared two days after that order was granted.""

I gripped the edge of the table.

"Is she dead?""

"We don't know.""

"Then find her.""

"We're trying.""

I looked at the photograph in its plastic sleeve.

My biological mother was smiling at the baby in her arms.

She looked happy.

She looked like someone who believed she had a future with her child.

And I had spent thirty-four years believing she'd never wanted me.

As Detective Harris escorted me toward the exit, my phone vibrated.

An email had arrived from an unknown sender.

The subject line read:

*YOUR MOTHER IS ALIVE.*

I opened it.

There was no message.

Only a photograph.

A woman sat on a wooden bench outside a small brick building. Her hair was streaked with gray, and her face looked older than the woman in the photograph I'd seen earlier.

But her eyes were unmistakable.

My eyes.