Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Called Me Barren
I drove to Ethan’s house alone.
Vincent objected.
Marco objected louder.
I went anyway.
Some confrontations cannot be outsourced to men with guns.
Marjorie Whitaker stood in her kitchen wearing pearls.
Of course she did.
She looked exactly as she had six weeks earlier when she handed me divorce papers.
Only this time, I was not carrying suitcases.
Ethan stood beside the sink holding a folder.
He looked sick.
“I’m sorry.”
I did not look at him.
Not yet.
Marjorie folded her arms.
“This is unnecessary.”
I almost admired her.
Some people could be caught standing in flames holding gasoline and still complain about the smoke.
“Did you alter my medical records?”
“No.”
Ethan slammed the folder onto the counter.
“Mom.”
She looked at him.
“Do not speak to me like that.”
“Did you know?”
Her silence answered.
I picked up the records.
Three fertility evaluations.
My original results were normal.
Ethan’s showed severely reduced fertility.
The copies I had been given showed “female-factor infertility under investigation.”
My legs felt weak.
Four years.
Four years of appointments.
Supplements.
Diet changes.
Needles.
Crying alone in bathrooms.
Marjorie asking whether I had “considered what Ethan was sacrificing.”
And all along—
“You knew.”
Marjorie’s jaw tightened.
“We were trying to protect Ethan.”
I laughed.
It sounded ugly.
“From what?”
“Humiliation.”
I stared.
“So you gave it to me instead.”
“That is not what happened.”
“You told everyone I couldn’t give him a child.”
“I said there were difficulties.”
“You put divorce papers on the table and told me your family needed a grandchild, not a schoolteacher.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Marjorie looked irritated that I remembered accurately.
“You were never suited to this family.”
There it was.
The truth beneath every excuse.
I stepped closer.
“Then why did you need a fake diagnosis?”
Her face changed.
Small.
But I saw it.
“Because Ethan wouldn’t leave me otherwise.”
Silence.
I looked at him.
He looked broken.
Marjorie said quickly:
“I knew my son. He would have wasted ten more years.”
Ethan whispered:
“You forged medical information to end my marriage.”
“I saved you.”
“No.”
His voice rose for the first time.
“You controlled me.”
Marjorie flinched.
I had never heard Ethan raise his voice at her.
Neither had she.
He looked at me.
“Hannah, I didn’t know.”
I believed him.
That was the worst part.
Because believing he had not known did not undo his silence on the staircase.
“You still signed.”
His face collapsed.
“I thought you would be better off.”
“You thought you would be more comfortable.”
He had no answer.
Marjorie pointed toward me.
“Look at her now. Running around with criminals. Maybe I was right.”
Ethan turned.
“Stop.”
“She has Vincent Moretti staying at that shack—”
“How do you know that?”
Marjorie froze.
I noticed.
So did Ethan.
“How do you know Vincent was at my house?”
“I heard.”
“From who?”
“People talk.”
“What people?”
She looked away.
My stomach tightened.
“Marjorie.”
“I don’t owe you explanations.”
I stepped closer.
“Did someone ask you about me?”
Her eyes flicked toward the back door.
Enough.
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t remember.”
Ethan swore.
“Mom.”
“He said he was looking into some property matter.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
Before the ambush.
Again.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Hannah returned to Rose’s old house.”
My skin turned cold.
“You gave a stranger my address?”
“He already knew it.”
“What did he look like?”
She described Aldo.
Scar at the chin.
Gray in his dark hair.
Polite.
Expensive coat.
Ethan stared at her.
“You gave him information?”
“I didn’t know who he was.”
“No,” I said.
“You just knew he was asking about the woman you hated.”
Marjorie’s mouth tightened.
“That’s unfair.”
I almost laughed again.
Then I noticed an envelope near the fruit bowl.
North Crest Financial.
Same company connected to Delia.
I picked it up.
Marjorie grabbed for it.
Too late.
“What is this?”
“Private.”
Ethan took it.
Opened it.
Inside was an investment statement.
North Crest had managed a large portion of the Whitakers’ retirement portfolio.
Ethan looked at his mother.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
My stomach dropped.
Aldo had not approached Marjorie randomly.
He already had a financial connection.
Maybe leverage.
Maybe access.
My phone rang.
Vincent.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Ethan’s.”
“Hannah, leave.”
His voice was different.
No argument.
No irritation.
Fear.
“What happened?”
“Someone went to your house.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Rocco?”
“Fine.”
“Delia?”
“She wasn’t there.”
“What did they do?”
A pause.
Then:
“They tried to burn it down.”
I looked at Marjorie.
For the first time in my life, she looked frightened for me.
Vincent continued.
“The fire didn’t take. Marco’s man stopped it.”
“Why would they burn the house?”
“Because we opened the wall.”
I thought of Rose’s ledger.
The photographs.
The key.
“Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“The documents are with you, right?”
Silence.
My heart stopped.
“Vincent?”
“The ledger is.”
“And Rose’s letter?”
“Yes.”
“The key?”
Another pause.
“No.”
I remembered exactly where I had placed it.
Inside the small wooden bowl near Rose’s pantry.
May you like
I whispered:
“They were looking for the key.”
