Chapter 5 - The Boy With My Husband’s Eyes
I stayed across the street for eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes watching the man I had slept beside for nine years enter another building as though he belonged there.
When the door closed behind him, I couldn't move.
Avery called twice.
Rebecca once.
I answered neither.
Finally, I drove to an empty grocery-store parking lot and cried.
Not because I knew what I had seen.
Because I didn't.
There were too many possibilities.
An affair.
A secret son.
A child from before our marriage.
A woman he had supported for years.
Every answer changed my life differently.
Rebecca returned my call.
“Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I told her.
She was quiet.
“Did you confront him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I laughed weakly.
“That might be the first intelligent thing I've done all week.”
“Stop speaking about yourself that way.”
“I missed an entire human being.”
“You didn't miss him. Someone concealed him.”
That mattered.
The distinction mattered.
Rebecca said she would investigate public records.
I went home.
At 9:43, Grant texted.
Can I FaceTime the kids?
I stared at the message.
He was still at the apartment.
I knew because his car hadn't moved when I drove away.
I replied:
They're asleep.
A lie.
Emma was reading.
Caleb was building Lego.
Grant responded:
Tell them I love them.
I almost typed:
How many children do you love?
Instead, I put my phone away.
At midnight, I opened Grant's old laptop.
He had left it in our home office.
The password was Emma's birthday.
I searched the woman's face through old contacts.
Nothing.
Then I searched Bellmont.
Nothing.
I searched the apartment address.
An email appeared.
Seven years old.
Subject: Owen's school.
I opened it.
From someone named Marissa Cole.
Grant,
Thank you for helping. I know this is complicated. Owen doesn't understand yet, and I don't think he's ready.
My heart pounded.
Grant had replied:
Whatever he needs, I'll handle it.
Next email.
Marissa:
You don't owe us this.
Grant:
Yes, I do.
I sat very still.
I searched Owen.
Hundreds of results.
School fees.
Medical payments.
Birthday gifts.
Soccer registration.
A private message from five years earlier:
Owen asked why you aren't his dad.
Grant's response:
What did you say?
Marissa:
That families can be complicated.
Grant:
For now, that's enough.
My hands trembled.
I searched DNA.
One result.
Attachment.
Laboratory report.
I opened it.
The document was dated seven years ago.
Probability of paternity:
0%.
I stared.
Again.
0%.
Grant was not Owen's father.
Relief came first.
Then confusion.
Why support him?
I kept reading emails.
The answer appeared forty minutes later.
Marissa's husband had been Grant's younger brother.
Evan.
I knew Evan existed.
But barely.
Grant rarely spoke about him.
He told me Evan died in a motorcycle accident before we met.
What Grant never told me was that Evan had a son.
Owen.
I sat back.
A secret nephew.
Not son.
Why hide that?
The next emails explained.
Evan and Grant had been estranged.
Evan struggled with addiction.
He borrowed money.
He lied.
Their parents cut him off.
When Evan died, Marissa wanted nothing to do with the Mercer family.
Grant secretly began helping her.
At first, I almost felt sympathy.
Then I found the email that explained the secrecy.
Marissa:
Does Claire know?
Grant:
No.
Marissa:
Why?
Grant:
Because she thinks I used our savings to pay down company debt. If she knows I'm helping you, she'll ask why my parents aren't.
Marissa:
You're lying to your wife.
Grant:
I'm protecting everyone.
There it was again.
Protection.
The word people used when they wanted to control what truth I was allowed to know.
I closed the laptop.
Grant had hidden a good deed inside years of lies.
That somehow made it more frustrating.
He could have told me.
I would have helped Owen.
I would have sent birthday gifts.
Invited him for Thanksgiving.
My children had a cousin they didn't know existed.
Not because Marissa necessarily wanted distance.
Because Grant built walls and called them protection.
The next afternoon, I met Marissa.
Rebecca arranged it through her attorney.
Marissa entered the cafe carefully.
She looked exactly as I remembered from the apartment.
Dark hair.
Tired eyes.
She sat.
“I assume you're Claire.”
“Yes.”
“I've been expecting this day for years.”
“That makes one of us.”
She winced.
“Fair.”
“Why did Grant hide you?”
“He didn't hide me.”
I stared.
“He paid your apartment.”
“He helped with rent.”
“With our money.”
“I didn't know that.”
“He told you what?”
“That it came from bonuses.”
I believed her.
“Is Owen Grant's son?”
“No.”
“I saw the DNA report.”
Her expression changed.
“You went through his laptop.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Then you know.”
“Why was there a test?”
“Because Grant wondered.”
“Why?”
Marissa looked uncomfortable.
“Evan suspected something before he died.”
“What?”
“That Grant and I had slept together.”
My stomach turned.
“Had you?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Why would Evan think that?”
“Because Grant was always fixing things.”
“That's not an answer.”
Marissa looked toward the window.
“Evan was jealous of him.”
“Why?”
“Grant had everything Evan couldn't hold onto.”
“Career?”
“Career. Parents' approval. Money.”
She paused.
“And me.”
My breath caught.
“You and Grant had history.”
“One date.”
“When?”
“College.”
“Did you date Evan after?”
“Two years later.”
“Did Grant love you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
Another woman.
Another hidden story.
“How many lives does my husband have?”
Marissa looked sad.
“Grant doesn't have multiple lives.”
“It feels like it.”
“He has multiple versions of himself.”
That sentence stayed with me.
She continued.
“He wants everyone to think he's the person who handles everything. He can't stand being seen as weak.”
“That doesn't excuse lying.”
“No.”
“Why didn't you contact me?”
“He asked me not to.”
“And you listened.”
“I needed help.”
Fair.
Painfully fair.
Marissa had been widowed with a child.
Grant offered money.
She took it.
I couldn't judge her for surviving.
“Does Owen know?”
“That Grant helps us?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know Grant is his uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Why haven't my children met him?”
Marissa looked surprised.
“I thought you didn't want them to.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Grant told me you knew about Owen and wanted separation between the families.”
My throat tightened.
“He told you I knew.”
“Yes.”
“And I didn't want them to meet.”
“Yes.”
I almost stood from rage.
Grant had used me as the villain.
“He lied.”
Marissa's face fell.
“I suspected.”
“Why?”
“Because Emma once made Grant a family tree for school.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
“He brought it here.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Why?”
“Owen asked about cousins.”
I could imagine it.
Emma's crayon family tree.
Mom.
Dad.
Caleb.
Grandma.
Grandpa.
And Grant using our daughter's school project to show his secret nephew a family he was forbidden to meet.
My eyes burned.
“Can I meet Owen?”
Marissa hesitated.
“Why?”
“He's my children's cousin.”
“You're angry.”
“At Grant.”
“Not Owen?”
“Never Owen.”
Marissa nodded.
“Then yes.”
Owen arrived after school.
He looked nervous.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Uncle Grant said you're nice.”
That almost destroyed me.
“What else did Uncle Grant say?”
Owen shrugged.
“That family stuff got complicated.”
He sat.
Then looked at me.
“Are Emma and Caleb mad at me?”
My heart cracked.
“They don't know yet.”
“Oh.”
“They could never be mad at you for something adults did.”
He nodded.
“Can I meet them?”
I smiled despite everything.
“Yes.”
That was the first happy thing that happened all week.
Then my phone rang.
Grant.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice was sharp.
“With Marissa.”
Silence.
Then:
“What did you do?”
I laughed.
“I met your nephew.”
“You had no right.”
“No right?”
“You don't understand the situation.”
“I understand that you told Marissa I wanted our children kept away from Owen.”
Grant inhaled.
“Claire.”
“You made me the villain in a decision I didn't even know existed.”
“I was trying to respect Marissa.”
“Then tell her the truth.”
“You'd have judged me for giving her money.”
“No. I would've helped.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, Grant. That's exactly the problem. You decided who I was without giving me the chance to be her.”
Silence.
Then he said:
“I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because there is one more thing you need to know.”
I closed my eyes.
“There is always one more thing.”
“This one changes everything.”
“I've heard enough.”
“No. You haven't.”
His voice broke.
Actually broke.
Grant Mercer, who controlled every room, sounded terrified.
“What?”
He whispered:
“The night before our wedding, I didn't call Avery to ask whether I should marry you.”
My pulse slowed.
“That is what she remembers.”
“I let her believe that.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't tell her the real reason.”
“What real reason?”
Grant was silent so long I thought the call had dropped.
Then he said:
“I called because I had just learned something about you.”
I gripped the phone.
May you like
“What?”
“And I almost canceled the wedding because of it.”
