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

Detective Harris took the phone from my hand and studied the photograph.

"Don't respond to this email," he said.

"But she's alive.""

"We don't know that for certain. The image could be old.""

I pointed at the timestamp.

"It was sent two minutes ago.""

"That doesn't mean the photograph was taken two minutes ago.""

I hated how reasonable he sounded.

I wanted to run out of the station, find the woman in the picture, and demand to know why she'd spent thirty-four years away from me.

Instead, I sat in a hard plastic chair while Harris asked the cybercrime unit to trace the email.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

I kept staring at the woman's face.

She looked tired. There were deep lines around her mouth, and one hand rested against her chest as though she were in pain. Yet something about her expression made me ache.

She looked as if she were waiting for someone.

Perhaps she'd been waiting for me all along.

Detective Harris returned with a printed copy of the email.

"The message was sent through a temporary account. We're working on the source.""

"Can you tell where the photograph was taken?""

He studied it.

"Possibly. That building resembles a chapel.""

I leaned forward.

"Where?""

"There's a small chapel near an old medical complex outside Decatur. But I won't send you there based on a photograph.""

"Then send officers.""

"We will.""

I stood.

"Detective, I can't sit here while my mother disappears again.""

Harris's expression softened slightly.

"I understand. But if someone is using her to lure you somewhere, walking into a trap won't help either of you.""

I sat back down.

For the first time that day, I realized how exhausted I was. My fever had worsened, my head throbbed, and my entire life seemed to be unraveling faster than I could understand it.

Harris brought me a bottle of water.

"Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?""

I thought about my house.

My mother was there.

Daniel knew where I lived.

And someone had forged my signature on documents designed to make me responsible for a crime.

"No," I admitted.

"We'll arrange temporary accommodation while the investigation continues.""

I nodded, but my eyes remained fixed on the photograph.

At 6:42 p.m., Harris received a call.

He listened without speaking, then looked at me.

"We found the chapel.""

My heart jumped.

"And?""

"The woman in the photograph was there earlier today. A groundskeeper saw her leaving around four.""

"Where did she go?""

"We're checking nearby cameras.""

I grabbed my purse.

"Then take me there.""

He hesitated.

"Emily—"

"Please. I know you have procedures, and I know you think I'm too emotional to make decisions. But this woman may be the only person alive who can explain what happened to me.""

Harris studied my face.

Finally, he nodded.

"You're coming with me. You stay where I tell you, and you do not approach anyone without my permission.""

"I understand.""

We drove to the chapel in an unmarked sedan.

The building stood behind an old medical complex, surrounded by tall oak trees and patches of overgrown grass. A narrow stone path led to the entrance, where a single light glowed above a weathered wooden door.

The air smelled of wet leaves and cold stone.

Harris instructed me to remain beside the car while he checked the perimeter.

I watched him disappear around the building.

Then I noticed something on the ground near the chapel steps.

A white envelope.

My name was written across the front.

Emily.

I picked it up before I could stop myself.

Inside was a photograph of a newborn baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.

On the back, someone had written:

You were wearing this when Richard took you from me.

My knees weakened.

I had never seen the photograph before, yet I recognized the yellow blanket.

It was the one my mother had kept in a cedar chest for years. She'd told me it was the blanket I came home from the hospital in.

I turned the photograph over again.

There was another line beneath the first.

I never gave you away.

I pressed the paper against my chest.

A door creaked behind me.

"Emily?""

I turned.

A woman stood in the chapel doorway.

She wore a dark coat and held a small leather handbag. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back, and her face was pale beneath the porch light.

The woman from the photograph.

My biological mother.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then she took one trembling step forward.

"Emmy?""

The childhood nickname struck me like a physical blow.

Only my father had called me that.

I stared at her.

"Are you Laura Bennett?""

She nodded.

Tears filled her eyes.

"I'm your mother.""

I wanted to run toward her.

I wanted to slap her.

I wanted to ask why she'd left me, why she'd let another woman raise me, and why I'd spent my entire life believing I wasn't wanted.

Instead, I stood frozen.

"You disappeared," I whispered.

Her face crumpled.

"No, sweetheart. I was taken away from you.""

"Why didn't you come back?""

"I tried.""

"When?""

"Every year. Every birthday. Every time I found a new address, I went looking for you.""

I shook my head.

"That's impossible. My father told me you abandoned me.""

She closed her eyes.

"Richard told you that?""

"Patricia told me everything.""

Laura let out a bitter laugh.

"Patricia?""

She wiped her cheeks.

"She wasn't your mother, Emily. She was the woman who helped Richard take you from me.""

The words hit harder than I expected.

I took a step backward.

"Why would they do that?""

Laura looked toward the road.

"Because Richard believed he could buy a family. Patricia believed she could keep one. And Daniel believed he could profit from both.""

My stomach tightened.

"Daniel is your brother.""

"Yes.""

"Did you know he married me?""

Her expression changed.

"Of course I knew.""

"Then why didn't you stop him?""

"I tried.""

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded newspaper clipping.

It showed Daniel and me on our wedding day, smiling beneath an arch of white flowers.

My chest tightened.

On the back was a handwritten note.

If you contact Emily, Daniel will make sure you never see her again.

The signature beneath it was Daniel's.

I stared at the note.

"Did he threaten you?""

Laura nodded.

"He told me he would destroy every piece of evidence proving you were my daughter. He said he'd make sure you believed I was a criminal who had abandoned you.""

I felt sick.

"Why would he do that?""

"Because your father promised him something.""

"What?""

Laura looked directly into my eyes.

"The inheritance.""

I shook my head.

"Daniel already received five hundred thousand dollars.""

"That was only the beginning.""

She took another breath.

"Richard promised Daniel the entire estate if he could keep you from discovering the truth until your thirty-fifth birthday. But Daniel wanted more. He wanted the company, the properties, and the money Richard had hidden before he disappeared.""

I remembered the forged signature.

The fake restraining order.

The body beneath the concrete floor.

"Did Daniel kill my father?""

Laura's eyes filled with tears.

"I don't know.""

She reached for my hand, but stopped before touching it.

"But I know what happened the night Richard disappeared.""

I held my breath.

"What?""

Laura looked toward the chapel entrance.

"I followed Richard to the warehouse because he had promised to bring you to me. When I arrived, Daniel was already there.""