Chapter 3 - THE ROCKING CHAIR
The two-hour drive to Lake Geneva was a blur of black asphalt and blinding headlights.
Evelyn’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached. A little boy. Claire's text echoed in her mind with every mile. How could there be a little boy? Sabrina was thirty-four. If Brad had started an affair with Sabrina eighteen months ago, a child would be an infant. But Claire’s message implied someone older. Someone who could speak.
The gravel crunched beneath Evelyn’s tires as she turned onto the hidden, tree-lined driveway of her childhood home.
The cottage sat exactly as she remembered it, framed by towering pines and the moonlight reflecting off the black water of the lake. But the charming, rustic cabin her father had built was gone. In its place was a sprawling, modernized estate. The original porch had been enclosed in glass. A luxury SUV sat in the driveway.
Brad hadn't just given them her house. He had used company funds to turn it into a mansion.
Evelyn parked and stepped out into the biting wind. The house was entirely dark, save for a single warm yellow light glowing in a second-story window. The window of Evelyn's old bedroom.
She walked up the stone steps. Her hand trembled as she tried the front door knob.
It was unlocked.
She pushed the heavy oak door open. The scent of vanilla and expensive wood smoke hit her immediately. The interior was lavishly decorated, filled with modern art and plush furniture. But as Evelyn stepped into the living room, her breath caught.
Sitting in the corner, perfectly preserved, was her father’s handmade oak rocking chair. The one she thought Brad had sold to an antique dealer.
Draped over the back of the chair was a small, navy-blue child's coat.
“Hello?” Evelyn called out, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor above her. Someone was walking toward the stairs.
Evelyn braced herself, expecting Margaret Wells. Or Sabrina, having somehow beaten her here.
Instead, a young man appeared at the top of the landing. He looked to be about twenty-five years old, wearing faded jeans and a grey sweater. He had dark hair, a sharp jawline, and eyes that Evelyn recognized instantly.
They were Brad’s eyes.
Evelyn grabbed the edge of the sofa to steady herself. Brad didn't have a child with Sabrina. He had a son with Sabrina’s mother, Margaret. A son who was born just a few years after Claire.
“Who are you?” the young man asked, his voice defensive. He descended the stairs slowly, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker at his side.
“My name is Evelyn Whitmore,” she said, her voice shaking.
The young man stopped halfway down the stairs. The fireplace poker slipped from his grip, clattering loudly against the wooden steps.
“Evelyn,” he whispered. He looked at her not with anger, but with profound, heartbreaking relief. “You came. You actually came.”
Evelyn frowned, entirely disoriented. “I'm sorry, do you know who I am?”
“Of course I do,” the young man said, tears springing to his eyes. He hurried down the remaining stairs and stopped a few feet from her. “My name is Julian. I’m Sabrina's younger brother.”
Evelyn stared at him. “Brad is your father.”
Julian flinched. “No. Brad isn't my father. Brad is my brother-in-law.”
The room seemed to tilt. Evelyn tried to make the math work in her head. Sabrina was thirty-four. If Brad was her brother-in-law, that meant Brad was married to Sabrina’s sister.
“Sabrina doesn't have a sister,” Evelyn said, her voice barely a breath.
“No,” Julian said softly. “She doesn't.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch. Evelyn gasped. It was her grandfather's watch. The one she had given Brad on their wedding day.
“Brad gave this to me when I turned eighteen,” Julian said, offering it to her. “He told me that if anything ever happened to him, I was to find you and give this back. He said it was the only way you would believe me.”
Evelyn took the cold gold in her hand. “Believe what, Julian?”
“That Brad didn't steal your company, Evelyn. Sabrina did.” Julian looked toward the dark window. “And if she finds out you're here tonight, she's going to kill us both.”
Before Evelyn could respond, the sound of tires violently crunching gravel echoed from the driveway.
Julian’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “She's here. Evelyn, you have to hide. Now.”
He grabbed her arm, but as he pulled her toward the hallway, a small voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
“Daddy? Did Mommy come home?”
Evelyn froze. Standing at the top of the landing, rubbing sleep from his eyes, was a little boy no older than six.
May you like
He had bright blonde hair.
And he was wearing pajamas with the exact same monogram Evelyn had stitched onto Claire’s clothes twenty-six years ago.
