Chapter 3

I stood in the entryway without opening the envelope right away.

It was addressed to Talia Caldwell at my mother’s lake house. The return address was a dental office. The postmark was clear: three months earlier.

My mother had still been alive.

Jason came up behind me and reached for the envelope. “What is there to look at? She probably put down the wrong address when she changed her information.”

I stepped away before he could take it. “Once could be a mistake. Getting mail here for three months is a plan.”

Talia’s face went pale. She looked at Jason, waiting for him to explain, the way he always did.

And of course he did.

“She didn’t have a stable place to stay at the time,” he said. “I told her she could use this address for mail. Your mother knew.”

“Did my mother know Talia was moving in?”

He didn’t answer right away.

I opened the envelope. It was a reminder card for an appointment two months earlier.

Which meant that while my mother was still in the hospital and I was running between her room and home, Talia had already made this address part of her life.

And Jason had held the key.

I walked into the living room and picked up the dark-blue guestbook from the coffee table.

My mother used to write down who came by, what they brought, and what color the lake had been that day.

She always said people forgot details, but paper didn’t.

The last few pages had been handled roughly.

Then I saw it.

One page had been torn out.

The edge was ragged, leaving half a date behind.

That day, I had been at the hospital with my mother for tests. Jason had told me he had an urgent meeting at work and couldn’t come.

“Who tore this page out?” I asked.

I photographed the torn edge and the half date before anyone could touch the book.

Talia pressed her lips together. “Maybe your mother did.”

“She wouldn’t have.” I looked up. “She wrote down the time I broke a vase when I was twenty.”

Jason’s voice hardened. “Stop turning everything into a conspiracy. You lost your mother. I know you’re hurting. But Talia didn’t do anything to you.”

I looked at him.

For ten years, every time he chose her, he wrapped it in the same excuse: She doesn’t mean any harm. You’re too sensitive. She just needs help.

Repetition had done what one argument never could: it had trained me to distrust my own boundary.

But my mother’s ring was on Talia’s hand. My mother’s house was filling with Talia’s belongings. And Jason was still asking me to believe this was all a misunderstanding.

I closed the guestbook and turned to the movers.

“Please stop for now. Nothing else comes into this house today.”

One of the men looked toward Jason, uncertain. “Sir already paid for the full day. We’re supposed to follow his instructions.”

Jason didn’t stop them.

He only watched me, waiting for me to do what I had always done—give in, so everyone else could stay comfortable.

I walked out into the yard. Mrs. Donnelly was watering her roses next door. When she saw me, she hesitated, then set down the watering can.

“Evelyn,” she said softly, “I thought you knew.”

I stopped.

“Jason has been coming here at night for months.” Her eyes moved toward the upstairs window, where a light had come on. “Sometimes he stays until morning.”

She paused.

“And he was never alone.”