Chapter 4: The Woman Who Knew My Son's Secret
At 8:17 the next morning, someone slid an envelope under my front door.
I was in the kitchen, trying to convince myself that a second cup of coffee would settle the knot in my stomach, when I heard the faint scrape against the hardwood floor.
By the time I reached the hallway, the person outside was gone.
The envelope was plain white, with my name written across the front in blue ink.
Eleanor Bennett.
No return address. No stamp. No explanation.
Inside was a single photograph.
Nathan stood beside a woman with shoulder-length brown hair outside the entrance to the hotel where the flowers had been delivered. His hand rested on the small of her back. She was looking up at him with an expression I had not seen on my son's face in years.
He looked happy.
Not politely pleased. Not the strained smile he wore when Brooke dragged him to social gatherings.
He looked genuinely happy.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written five words.
Ask your son about his second life.
I sank onto the hallway bench.
For several minutes, I couldn't move.
I recognized the woman from the hotel receipt. Claire Morgan. The coworker who had thanked me for flowers I hadn't sent.
But who had taken the photograph?
And who knew enough about my family's problems to deliver it to my house?
My phone rang.
Nathan.
I almost didn't answer, but I needed to hear his voice. I needed to know whether the man in the photograph was the same son who had warned me to stop asking questions.
"Good morning," I said.
"Mom, did someone come to your house?""
My blood ran cold.
"Why?""
"Just answer me.""
"Someone left an envelope.""
He swore under his breath.
"What was inside?""
"Why don't you tell me?""
"Mom, this isn't funny.""
"I'm not laughing.""
He went silent.
I looked at the photograph again.
"Who is Claire Morgan?""
"She's a colleague.""
"Your colleague who receives romantic flowers at a hotel?""
"Those flowers were for a work event.""
"Then why did you tell me you were going home?""
"Because I didn't want to explain the whole evening to you!""
"Why not?""
"Because you turn everything into an interrogation!""
I closed my eyes.
Even now, he was trying to make my questions the problem.
"Nathan, someone has sent me a photograph of you and Claire. They wrote that you have a second life. Do you want to explain what that means?""
His breathing changed.
"Give me the photograph.""
"Come and get it.""
"I need it now.""
"Why?""
"Because whoever sent it is trying to cause trouble.""
"Perhaps the truth is causing trouble.""
He raised his voice.
"You don't understand anything about my marriage!""
"You're right. I don't. Because nobody tells me anything until they need money.""
The words came out more sharply than I intended.
For once, Nathan had no immediate response.
Then he said, "I'm coming over.""
He hung up.
I placed the photograph inside the envelope and set it on the dining room table beside the bank statements.
Twenty minutes later, Nathan's car pulled into my driveway.
He entered without knocking.
His hair was damp from the rain, and he was still wearing the navy overcoat he'd worn to work the previous day.
"Where is it?"" he demanded.
I pointed toward the table.
He snatched the photograph from the envelope.
For a moment, he simply stared at it.
Then his jaw tightened.
"Who gave you this?""
"I told you. Someone put it under my door.""
"Did you see them?""
"No.""
"Did you touch anything else?""
"Only the envelope.""
He turned it over, examining the handwriting.
I watched him carefully.
He wasn't surprised to see himself in the photograph.
He was frightened by the fact that someone else had it.
"Nathan," I said, "what's going on?""
"Nothing.""
"That isn't an answer.""
He shoved the photograph into his coat pocket.
"Someone is trying to blackmail me.""
"Who?""
"I don't know.""
"Then why are you so afraid?""
He looked at me, his expression suddenly hard.
"Because people like you don't understand how quickly one stupid mistake can destroy everything.""
I felt the words land between us.
"People like me?""
"People who think everything is simple. You see a picture, and suddenly you think you know someone's entire life.""
"Then tell me what I'm missing.""
He paced toward the living room and back again.
"I made some mistakes. All right? I'm trying to handle them.""
"Are those mistakes why you used my credit card?""
His eyes flashed.
"Can we stop talking about the card?""
"No.""
He dragged a hand through his hair.
"Fine. The card was a bad decision. I should have asked before using it. I'll pay you back.""
"When?""
"I don't know yet.""
"How much?""
He looked away.
"I haven't calculated everything.""
"I have. Eighteen thousand, four hundred sixty-three dollars and seventy-two cents in six months alone.""
He stared at me.
"You've been keeping track of every little thing?""
"Those aren't little things, Nathan.""
He walked to the window and stood with his back to me.
"I was going to make it right.""
"With what money?""
He didn't answer.
I rose from my chair.
"Are you having an affair?""
His shoulders stiffened.
"That's none of your business.""
"I'm not asking because I want to interfere in your marriage. I'm asking because you're using money from my account to buy flowers for a woman at a hotel, and now someone is leaving photographs at my house.""
He turned around.
"You have no idea what my marriage is like.""
"Then tell me.""
He stared at me for a long time.
Finally, he sat down.
"Brooke and I haven't been happy for a while.""
I waited.
"We fight about everything. The house, the bills, the people she wants to impress. She thinks I should be making more money. She wants us to live a certain way, and I can't keep up.""
"Have you told her that?""
"Of course.""
"And what did she say?""
He gave a bitter laugh.
"That I should work harder.""
For the first time that morning, I felt a flicker of sympathy.
Not because his choices were acceptable, but because I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
"What about Claire?"" I asked.
He rubbed his face.
"Claire understands me.""
"Is that why you lied to your wife?""
He looked up sharply.
"Who said I lied to Brooke?""
I didn't answer.
He stared at me, then looked away.
The silence told me enough.
"Nathan, I love you," I said.
"But I won't help you hide something that could destroy another person's life.""
His face hardened.
"You're supposed to be on my side.""
"I am on your side. That's why I'm asking you to stop making things worse.""
He stood.
"I shouldn't have come here.""
He headed toward the door.
"Nathan.""
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"Did you use my card to pay for the hotel room?""
His hand tightened around the doorknob.
"Yes.""
The admission was barely audible.
I felt as if the floor had shifted beneath me.
"How much?""
"I don't remember.""
"Was it more than one night?""
He closed his eyes.
"Mom, please.""
"Was it?""
He turned to face me.
"Yes.""
I held the edge of the table.
"How many?""
"Three.""
Three nights.
Three nights he'd paid for a hotel room with my money while telling me he was exhausted and heading home.
I thought of all the evenings I'd spent worrying about whether he was eating properly, whether he was working too hard, whether he was getting enough sleep.
All the times he'd reassured me that everything was fine.
"Nathan," I whispered, "why?""
He looked almost angry that I'd asked.
"Because I needed somewhere to go.""
"You have a home.""
"Not one where I can breathe.""
I stared at him.
He had a house, a wife, a career, and a mother who had spent years helping him whenever he struggled.
Yet he'd used my money to create a secret life instead of dealing honestly with the one he already had.
"Did you tell Claire the money belonged to you?""
He didn't answer.
"Nathan?""
"I told her I was handling the expenses.""
"That isn't what I asked.""
He looked at the floor.
"I didn't tell her it was your card.""
My throat tightened.
"So she thinks you've been paying for everything yourself.""
"Yes.""
I turned away.
He had used my money to impress another woman, then allowed her to believe he was more financially secure than he really was.
And when he came home, he'd expected me to continue funding the lifestyle he couldn't afford.
"Leave the photograph," I said.
He frowned.
"What?""
"Give it back.""
"I need it.""
"No. You need to stop hiding from the consequences of your decisions.""
He pulled it from his pocket and placed it on the table.
Then he walked out.
I watched his car disappear down the street.
When I returned to the dining room, I noticed something written in tiny letters at the bottom of the photograph.
I hadn't seen it before because Nathan's hand had covered the corner.
Ask Brooke what happened on November 30.
I read the sentence again.
November 30 was only a few weeks earlier.
I opened my calendar and checked the date.
That evening, Brooke had called me in tears because their checking account was overdrawn. She'd asked whether I could transfer $3,000 to cover an urgent household expense.
I'd sent the money that same night.
She'd thanked me repeatedly.
Now someone was telling me to ask her what had happened that day.
I reached for my phone.
But before I could dial Brooke's number, a text arrived from an unknown sender.
Your son isn't the only one who has been lying to you.
A second message followed.
Check the Christmas payments. Look at where the money actually went.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether the eighteen thousand dollars on my statements represented only the beginning.
And whether Brooke's sudden decision to exclude me from Christmas had been about something far more dangerous than not wanting me at the table.
