Chapter 3
I just stared at her.
Rachel’s father had supposedly died when she was nineteen.
Heart attack.
That was the story I had been told.
I had seen pictures of him.
I had heard Rachel’s mother talk about raising two children alone after losing her husband.
At our wedding, Rachel had even left an empty chair in the front row with a framed photograph on it.
I remembered her crying when she placed a white rose on that chair.
Now she stood five feet away from me and said the man had never died.
“No.”
The word came out automatically.
Rachel wiped her face.
“Daniel.”
“No. You don’t get to say something like that and then stand there like it’s normal.”
“It isn’t normal.”
“You told me your father was dead.”
“My mother told everyone he was dead.”
“You did too.”
“I was nineteen.”
“You were twenty-seven when we met.”
She said nothing.
“You were twenty-nine when we got married.”
Her eyes dropped.
“You put his picture at our wedding.”
“I know.”
“You let me hold you while you cried about wishing he could see you get married.”
“I know.”
“So either you are lying now or you have been lying to me for ten years.”
Rachel sank onto the edge of the bed.
“I found out he was alive three years ago.”
That was somehow worse.
I stared at her.
“Three years.”
She nodded.
“What happened?”
“A message.”
“From him?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“He said he was sorry.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That’s convenient.”
“He said Mom forced him to stay away.”
“Why?”
Rachel rubbed her hands together.
“My father had a gambling problem.”
I waited.
“He lost our house when I was seventeen.”
That part I had never heard.
“He borrowed money from people he shouldn’t have borrowed from. He emptied their savings. He took money from Jason’s college account. Mom found out after everything was gone.”
“So she left him?”
“She told him he was dead to us.”
I frowned.
“And everyone just accepted that literally?”
“Mom told relatives he had died because she was humiliated. She moved us across the state. We didn’t correct anybody.”
“You were nineteen.”
“I hated him.”
“But three years ago he contacted you.”
“Yes.”
“And you started sending him money.”
“At first, no.”
I pointed at the laptop.
“There’s seventy-five hundred dollars missing.”
“That wasn’t the first payment.”
My stomach dropped again.
“How much?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
“How much money have you given your supposedly dead father?”
She whispered, “Around fourteen thousand.”
I felt dizzy.
“Fourteen thousand dollars?”
“He needed help.”
The irony was so unbelievable that for a second I couldn't speak.
Then I laughed.
Rachel stared at me.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I think it’s incredible.”
“What?”
“You stole my mother’s rent because you said she was living off her son.”
Rachel stiffened.
“Daniel—”
“And meanwhile, you gave fourteen thousand dollars to a father who abandoned you.”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
“He didn’t abandon me.”
“You just said he gambled away your house and disappeared.”
“My mother pushed him out.”
“After he gambled away everything they had!”
“He was sick.”
“So is my mother.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
I stepped toward her.
“You decided your family deserved help and mine didn’t.”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you decided.”
“He had nobody.”
“My mother has me.”
“And that’s the problem!”
Her words exploded through the room.
I stared at her.
Rachel stood up.
“She has you for everything, Daniel. Every crisis. Every bill. Every problem. She knows if she calls, you come running.”
“And your father knew if he called, you’d empty our savings.”
Her face crumpled.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“Then tell me how it was supposed to happen.”
“He said he was sick.”
“With what?”
“Cancer.”
I paused.
“What kind?”
“Pancreatic.”
“And you believed him?”
“He sent documents.”
“Have you met him?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Where?”
“Hotels. Restaurants.”
My stomach twisted.
“You told me those were work conferences.”
Rachel’s silence was enough.
I walked away from her.
I suddenly felt like every memory had become unstable.
Every weekend trip.
Every dinner.
Every unexplained charge.
Every moment she had been looking at her phone and smiling.
I spun back.
“Is he really your father?”
“What?”
“Because right now I don’t know what to believe.”
“Yes.”
“Have you verified the cancer?”
“He showed me records.”
“Have you spoken to a doctor?”
“No.”
“Have you gone to an appointment?”
“No.”
“Have you talked to your mother about him?”
Rachel looked panicked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She can’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll lose her mind.”
“Maybe because the man gambled away their life.”
“He changed.”
“You know that because he told you?”
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
Rachel looked down.
“Mostly.”
I grabbed the overnight bag.
“I’m going.”
“Daniel, don’t tell Mom.”
I stopped.
Her mother, Carol.
The woman who had always treated me like a son.
The woman who still placed flowers on her supposedly dead husband’s grave every Memorial Day.
Wait.
I turned.
“Grave.”
Rachel froze.
“I went with you to your father’s grave.”
She didn't answer.
“We stood over a headstone.”
“My mother bought a burial plot.”
“For a living man?”
“She needed closure.”
I stared at Rachel like she had just spoken another language.
“This family is insane.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry, but what else am I supposed to call this?”
“She was trying to protect us.”
“And you’re trying to protect him.”
Rachel walked toward me.
“Please. Give me one night to explain everything.”
“You’ve had three years.”
“I was ashamed.”
“You were willing to let my mother be evicted so your father could have money.”
“I didn’t think it would get that far.”
“What did you think would happen when you stopped paying her rent?”
“I thought she’d ask you for help directly.”
“She did.”
“I know.”
“Four months later!”
Rachel looked at me helplessly.
“I thought she had savings.”
“You knew she didn’t.”
“She should.”
“She spent her life raising me.”
“So did my mother!”
The words came out with such rage that both of us stopped.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
We both looked at it.
The screen lit up.
MARCUS.
I stared at the name.
Rachel moved toward the phone.
I got there first.
“Give me that.”
I held it away.
“Who is Marcus?”
She went pale.
“Daniel.”
“Your father’s name is Michael.”
No answer.
The phone kept buzzing.
“Who is Marcus?”
Rachel’s breathing changed.
Fast.
Shallow.
Panic.
“Please don’t answer.”
I did.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man said, “Rachel?”
“No.”
The line went quiet.
“This is her husband.”
The man inhaled sharply.
“Oh.”
“Who are you?”
“Where’s Rachel?”
“She’s right here.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
Rachel reached for the phone.
I stepped back.
“Daniel, please.”
The man said, “Look, I don’t want trouble.”
“Then tell me who you are.”
Another pause.
“Marcus Carter.”
The last name hit me.
Carter.
The transfer.
M. Carter.
I looked at Rachel.
Her face had completely collapsed.
“You’re her father?”
The man actually laughed.
“No.”
My blood went cold.
“Then why has my wife transferred you thousands of dollars?”
“Daniel, hang up!” Rachel screamed.
Marcus became quiet.
Then he said something that changed the entire night again.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
Rachel rushed toward me.
I backed into the dresser.
“Marcus, don’t!”
The man ignored her.
“Ask your wife where she goes every Tuesday night.”
I stared at Rachel.
She was crying now.
Not angry tears.
Terrified tears.
“Daniel, please.”
Marcus continued.
“And ask her why she gave me seventy-five hundred dollars six months ago.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“Because she thought it would make me disappear.”
Rachel lunged.
I caught her wrist with my free hand.
“Disappear from what?”
Marcus exhaled.
“From your marriage.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I released Rachel.
She backed away.
I could barely hear my own voice.
“Are you sleeping with my wife?”
Marcus did not answer immediately.
He didn’t need to.
Rachel whispered, “It wasn’t like that.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
That sentence.
The sentence people use when it is exactly like that.
Marcus finally said, “It ended months ago.”
I looked at Rachel.
She covered her face.
“How long?”
“Daniel—”
I spoke into the phone.
“How long?”
Marcus answered.
“About a year.”
I almost dropped the phone.
Rachel shook her head violently.
“No. No, that’s not fair. It wasn’t a year.”
Marcus said, “Rachel, stop lying.”
She screamed.
“Shut up!”
He laughed bitterly.
“You told him your father got the money?”
Rachel’s mouth fell open.
I felt something inside me break.
Not crack.
Break.
The fake dead father.
The cancer.
The family secret.
All of it had been invented.
I whispered, “There is no father.”
Rachel sank to the floor.
Marcus said quietly, “Her father really is dead. I don’t know why she told you otherwise.”
I stared at my wife.
“Why?”
Rachel sobbed into her hands.
“Because I knew what you would think.”
“What I would think?”
“If you knew about Marcus.”
“I do know.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
“I understand that my wife stole my mother’s rent, emptied our savings, and paid her affair partner seventy-five hundred dollars.”
“I didn’t pay him because of the affair!”
Marcus cut in.
“She paid me because I was going to tell you.”
Rachel screamed his name.
I felt absolutely nothing for a second.
Just emptiness.
Then Marcus added, “And because there’s something else you need to know.”
Rachel looked up.
“No.”
Marcus continued.
“You should probably ask her who the father of the baby was.”
Everything stopped.
May you like
I stared down at Rachel.
“What baby?”
