Chapter 2: The Woman on the Phone
The dead call stayed on the screen long after the line went silent.
I stared at the number.
Unknown.
No name.
No history.
Nothing I could use to make the voice belong to a real person.
“Who was that?”” Cole asked.
I looked up.
He had gone completely still.
Not confused.
Not curious.
Terrified.
That was what I couldn't stop seeing.
Terrified.
“I asked who was calling me,” I said.
Cole swallowed.
“I don't know.””
“You're lying.””
“I’m not.””
“You knew the second the phone rang.””
His eyes flicked toward my mother.
Darla was standing beside the pantry door, one hand pressed against her chest.
“Darla,” I said, “who was that?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know.””
I almost smiled.
It wasn't funny.
“You both keep saying that.””
Cole stepped closer.
“Emma, please. You're upset.””
“You think?””
“You need to sit down.””
“I need answers.””
My baby moved again.
A slow roll beneath my hand.
I looked down.
For a few seconds, the room disappeared.
The pink tablecloth.
The abandoned gifts.
The cake.
The broken party cups on the floor.
All of it blurred behind the simple fact that there was a tiny person inside me who had no idea the world around her had just cracked open.
I touched my stomach.
“She's okay,” I whispered.
Darla immediately said, “Of course she is.””
I looked at her.
“Then tell me why that woman said I needed to know something about my daughter.””
Darla's eyes filled.
“I don't know what she meant.””
Cole moved between us.
“She could be trying to scare you.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
“Then why are you afraid?””
He said nothing.
That was enough.
I picked up my phone and opened the call history.
“I'm calling her back.””
Cole's hand shot out.
“No.””
I stared at it.
His fingers were inches from my wrist.
“Move.””
“Emma—”
“Move.””
He slowly lowered his hand.
I pressed the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then voicemail.
A man's automated voice said the number wasn't accepting messages.
I hung up.
My mother wiped her face.
“Please don't call her again.””
I turned to her.
“Why?””
“Because we don't know who she is.””
“You've been telling me that all afternoon.””
Darla looked down.
“Emma…”
“What did she mean?””
She didn't answer.
I stepped toward her.
“Is Lily Cole's baby?””
Cole made a strangled sound.
“What?””
The words felt terrible once they were outside my mouth.
But they were already there.
Hanging between us.
My mother stared at me.
“No.””
Cole's voice was immediate.
“She is our daughter.””
“Our?””
“Yes.””
I looked into his eyes.
“You were sleeping with my mother six months ago.””
He flinched.
“And I'm supposed to believe you were faithful enough to be certain?””
“That isn't how it works.””
“Then explain how it works.””
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Emma, you know when you got pregnant.””
I did.
I knew the dates.
I knew everything.
Or I thought I did.
I had the ultrasound photos on my refrigerator at home.
I had the pregnancy app on my phone.
I remembered the night I told Cole.
The way he'd covered his face with both hands and laughed.
“I’m going to be a dad.””
He'd cried.
I remembered believing those tears meant something.
Now every memory had a shadow behind it.
My mother stepped forward.
“Emma, Lily is your husband's child.””
“You sound very sure.””
“Because I am.””
“How?””
Darla went quiet.
I caught it.
That hesitation.
That tiny pause.
“You just said you were sure.””
“I am.””
“Then why did you hesitate?””
She looked at Cole.
Again.
That silent glance.
The kind that made me feel like an outsider in my own life.
I backed away.
“I want both of you out of my house.””
Cole shook his head.
“No.””
My heart stopped for a second.
“No?””
“We need to talk.””
“I don't need to talk to you.””
“Yes, you do.””
“Why?””
“Because if you leave this conversation believing the wrong thing, it could hurt all of us.””
“All of us?””
He gestured toward my stomach.
“Especially her.””
Something about that sentence made my blood run cold.
“You don't get to use my daughter against me.””
“I'm not.””
“You already are.””
He shook his head.
“Emma, I swear I never wanted this to happen.””
I looked at him.
“To kiss my mother?””
“To hurt you.””
“That isn't an answer.””
“No.””
He took a breath.
“I mean everything.””
“You mean the affair?””
“Yes.””
I blinked.
He had finally said it.
No excuses.
No “mistake.””
No “misunderstanding.””
Just the word.
Affair.
My mother's shoulders shook.
I turned toward her.
“How long?””
She whispered, “I don't know.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You knew enough to kiss him.””
“Emma…”
“Did Dad know?””
Her face changed.
That was all it took.
I stared at her.
“My father?””
She didn't answer.
“Did Dad know?””
Cole stepped in.
“That's enough.””
“No.””
I pointed at him.
“You don't get to decide what is enough.””
He lowered his voice.
“Your father cannot know about this.””
My skin prickled.
“Why?””
Silence.
“Why can't my father know?””
Darla began crying again.
“You don't understand.””
“Then help me understand.””
Cole looked toward the hallway.
“Asher should not be involved.””
The name hit me.
Asher.
My father's name.
I felt dizzy.
“What does Dad have to do with this?””
Cole looked at my mother.
She gave the smallest shake of her head.
That was when I realized something.
They weren't protecting me.
They were coordinating.
And whatever they were hiding had been going on longer than six months.
I stepped backward until I hit the counter.
“Tell me everything.””
Cole opened his mouth.
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
My fingers shook as I opened it.
*Don't let Cole take you anywhere tonight.*
Underneath it was another message.
*He knows what happened to your father.*
I stopped breathing.
My father had died two years earlier.
Everyone had told me it was a heart attack.
He'd been found in his study.
The coroner had said his heart had been weak.
My mother had held my hands at the funeral.
Cole had stood beside me in the rain.
He had been the one who drove me home afterward.
I looked at him now.
He seemed to understand exactly what I'd just read.
“You know something about my father's death.””
It wasn't a question.
Cole's face drained of color.
“Emma—”
“You know.””
“I can explain.””
“Did you kill him?””
Darla gasped.
“Emma!””
Cole looked horrified.
“No.””
“Then what do you know?””
He moved toward me.
I grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter.
His footsteps stopped.
The blade trembled in my hand.
I wasn't thinking about using it.
I just needed something between us.
“Stay back.””
“Emma, put that down.””
“Stay back.””
He raised his hands.
“Okay.””
My mother whispered, “Please.””
“Both of you.””
They froze.
“Leave.””
Cole looked at me for a long time.
Then he nodded.
“We'll talk tomorrow.””
“No.””
“You need rest.””
“I said leave.””
He walked toward the back door.
At the threshold, he turned.
“There's something you should know.””
I said nothing.
His eyes moved to my stomach.
“The woman who called you isn't trying to protect you.””
He opened the door.
“She wants something.””
The door slammed.
My mother remained.
I looked at her.
“You too.””
She didn't move.
“Emma, I can't leave you like this.””
“You left me a long time ago.””
She covered her mouth.
Then she walked toward the door.
Before stepping outside, she stopped.
Without turning around, she whispered,
“Your father didn't die the way we told you.””
The door closed.
I stood there alone.
My hands went numb.
My knees nearly gave out.
I lowered myself onto a kitchen chair.
The house was silent now.
No laughter.
No music.
No clinking glasses.
Just the refrigerator humming and the occasional pop of a balloon rubbing against the ceiling.
I opened my messages again.
The unknown number had sent one more text.
*Check your mother's old sewing room. Third drawer. Under the blue box.*
I stared at the words.
My mother had a sewing room upstairs.
A room I hadn't entered since I was a teenager.
I looked toward the staircase.
My entire body told me not to go.
My curiosity told me I had no choice.
I slowly climbed the stairs.
Each step creaked beneath my weight.
At the end of the hallway, the sewing-room door stood half open.
I pushed it.
The smell of cedar and old fabric greeted me.
A yellow lamp glowed over the desk.
Everything looked untouched.
I crossed the room.
The third drawer stuck halfway.
I pulled harder.
Inside were spools of thread, scissors, faded photographs, and a small blue box.
My pulse hammered.
I lifted it out.
The lid wasn't locked.
Inside was an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
*Emma.*
Not my mother's handwriting.
My hands began to shake.
I opened it.
Three photographs slid onto the desk.
The first showed my father standing outside a hotel.
The second showed Cole getting out of the same building.
The third showed my mother meeting a man I'd never seen before.
On the back of that photograph, someone had written four words.
*He knows about Lily.*
I stared at the strange man's face.
Then I noticed the date.
The photograph had been taken eight months ago.
One month before I found out I was pregnant.
And beneath the photographs was a folded hospital document with my name on it.
I opened it.
The first line made my heart stop.
May you like
*PATERNITY TEST — CONFIDENTIAL*
And beneath it was a result dated three months before my baby shower.
