Chapter 8 - THE PLAN
I photographed everything.
Every page.
Every signature.
Every envelope.
Then I found the document that made my hands shake.
A draft divorce petition.
My name was listed as petitioner.
Gwen’s name as respondent.
The reason:
Adultery.
Attached were the edited photographs.
They hadn’t just wanted my money.
They had been preparing to erase Gwen from my life.
The next file contained emails printed from an account I had never created.
The address used my name.
Messages had been sent to Gwen.
Cold messages.
Cruel messages.
One said:
I have enough problems over here. I can’t deal with your drama too.
Another:
If you lost the baby, maybe it was for the best.
I stopped breathing.
Gwen thought those words came from me.
For two years, she had believed I blamed her for losing our daughter.
A floorboard creaked.
I shut the binder.
Margaret stood in the doorway.
She looked at the open room.
Then at me.
For once, she didn’t pretend.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
I held up one of the letters.
“You kept these.”
She walked inside and shut the door.
“I can explain.”
“You forged my signature.”
“We needed money.”
“You changed my insurance.”
“It was temporary.”
“You created an email account pretending to be me.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You were gone.”
“So you decided to become me?”
“You don’t understand what happened here.”
“Then explain it.”
Her eyes grew wet.
She was good.
My mother could cry faster than anyone I had ever met.
“Gwen was destroying this family.”
“How?”
“She was unstable.”
“She had cancer.”
“She was dramatic before that.”
I stared at her.
“You told her I blamed her for losing my daughter.”
Margaret’s face went still.
There.
The tears disappeared.
“That child was already gone.”
I had never wanted to hit my mother.
Not once in my life.
Until that second.
But I didn’t move.
I didn’t raise my voice.
I said quietly, “You don’t get to talk about my daughter.”
Margaret stepped closer.
“You think Gwen is innocent?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen everything.”
She pulled out her phone.
“What else is there?”
She tapped the screen.
A recording began.
Gwen’s voice.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Then a man’s voice answered.
“You don’t have to. Leave him.”
I recognized the man from the photographs.
Evan.
Margaret watched my face carefully.
Then Gwen’s voice played again.
“Maybe you’re right.”
My mother stopped the recording.
“You still think she was waiting for you?”
I stared at the phone.
Something about the recording felt wrong.
Then my own phone buzzed.
It was Marcus.
One sentence.
GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. NOW.
I looked at Margaret.
May you like
Behind her, smoke began sliding under the door.
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