Chapter 5 - The Lake House
The lake house had been my mother’s sanctuary. It was a modest, two-bedroom cabin three hours north in Wisconsin, surrounded by dense pine trees and sitting on a quiet, isolated shoreline. Daniel had always hated it. He called it a mosquito-infested shack.
But my mother had loved it. It was where she taught me to fish, where she taught Ellie how to skip rocks.
It was also where she planted her garden. Where Margaret planted the first seed.
The drive took two and a half hours, the silence in the car heavy and tense. Ellie had fallen asleep against the window, exhausted by the trauma of the night. I didn’t wake her when I pulled into the dirt driveway. I turned off the engine and grabbed the heavy Maglite flashlight from the glove compartment.
“Lock the doors, Ellie,” I whispered, gently shaking her awake. “Do not come outside unless I tell you.”
She nodded, her eyes wide and terrified.
I stepped out into the freezing night air. The cabin was dark, but a silver Mercedes—Lauren’s car, undoubtedly paid for by my husband—was parked in the tall grass.
I walked up the wooden steps, my grip tightening on the heavy metal flashlight. I pushed the front door open. It wasn't locked.
Inside, the cabin smelled of dust and old cedar. A single lantern was lit in the center of the living room.
Lauren was sitting in my mother’s favorite rocking chair, a thick red ledger resting on her lap. Next to the ledger was a lighter.
She looked up as I entered. Without her makeup, stripped of the glamour of the ballroom, she looked shockingly young. And deeply exhausted.
“I knew you’d figure out the text was for you, not Daniel,” Lauren said, her voice completely devoid of the venom she’d had at the hotel.
“Where is my husband?” I demanded.
“Running,” Lauren scoffed. “He panicked when the video played. He left me at the hotel and drove straight to the office to clear the safe. But I got there first. I took the ledger.”
“Why?” I asked, stepping closer. “What do you want, Lauren?”
Lauren traced her fingers over the faded red cover of the ledger. “Do you know what’s in here?”
“The original shares.”
“No,” Lauren said softly. “This is your mother’s diary.”
I froze.
Lauren flipped the book open. She didn’t look at the pages; she looked at me.
“Daniel didn't approach me to have an affair,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “He approached me because he found out who I was. And he needed me to legally bypass your mother’s ironclad trust.”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out a faded, crinkled photograph. She tossed it onto the coffee table between us.
I shone the flashlight on it. It was a picture of my mother, Margaret, holding a baby. But it wasn't me. The baby had a distinct, heart-shaped birthmark on her cheek.
May you like
I looked up. In the dim lantern light, I could clearly see the faint, heart-shaped birthmark on Lauren’s cheek.
“Margaret was my mother, too,” Lauren whispered, a tear slipping down her face. “But she left me behind.”
