Chapter 5
Daniel didn’t wait until that evening.
When I got home, Sophie sat on the living room rug with the television tuned to the Evelyn House Media Facebook page.
A livestream countdown showed four minutes remaining.
Her phone kept vibrating. She turned it facedown.
“Everyone at school is sharing this,” she said. “What is Dad announcing?”
“I don’t know.”
This time, it was true.
I removed my coat but didn’t call Daniel. If he planned to explain me to the world, I wanted to hear the version he had prepared.
The livestream opened in our company’s interview room. All ten novels stood behind Daniel. Ivy sat beside him with my mother’s pen clipped to her neckline.
The viewer count climbed.
“In the past twenty-four hours, there has been confusion about Evelyn Hart’s identity,” Daniel said. “We hoped to handle it privately, but false claims are now affecting the film and the new release.”
There had been no claims.
I hadn’t spoken publicly.
He was giving everyone his version before I could give them mine.
“Evelyn has worked with several researchers,” he continued. “One of them is my wife, Claire. She contributed extensively, but recent family stress and creative disagreements have led her to confuse participation with authorship.”
Sophie looked at me.
Comments raced beneath the video.
Jealous wife.
Trying to steal her husband’s client.
Why would he marry someone like that?
Ivy rested a hand on Daniel’s arm.
“I’ve always appreciated Claire’s help with background material,” she said. “Successful writers rely on research. Unfortunately, someone who spends years near a project can develop an unhealthy sense of ownership.”
Her timing was smooth. Even her pauses felt rehearsed.
Daniel faced the camera again.
“We won’t discuss a family member’s emotional or medical issues in public. We only ask that people respect Claire’s privacy while she gets the support she needs.”
Sophie stood.
“You’re not sick.”
“I know.”
“Then why is he saying that?”
Because a concerned husband and a harassed author sold better than a manager who had stolen his wife’s identity.
I kept the answer to myself. Sophie didn’t need to carry all of it.
Ivy picked up a bound sample of the new book.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be at Westbridge Academy for the annual charity reading,” she said. “That school matters to me because one of the novel’s central mother-daughter scenes was inspired by a seventeen-year-old girl’s life.”
Sophie turned slowly toward the screen.
Ivy opened the sample.
“This passage hasn’t been released yet. I’d like to share a few lines tonight.”
I reached for the remote.
Sophie caught my wrist. “Wait.”
Ivy began reading.
The girl in the scene was nine. She had locked herself in a bathroom and refused to attend a school performance. Her mother sat outside the door and promised not to leave.
Through the door, the child said, “Dad always gets to go because you’re always the one who stays.”
Sophie released me.
The line had never appeared in any published book.
Eight years earlier, Daniel had missed Sophie’s piano recital. She had come home, locked herself in the bathroom, and spoken those exact words.
I hadn’t kept them in a journal or told my editor.
I had used the memory in my unfinished manuscript, intending to ask Sophie’s permission before deciding whether it stayed.
Daniel had copied it.
Ivy was reading it to strangers.
“Turn it off,” Sophie said.
I shut down the television.
Her phone continued vibrating. She picked it up without checking the messages and powered it off.
“Will the school let her read that tomorrow?”
“Not that passage.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m going to stop her.”
Sophie stared at the black screen. Our reflections stood side by side in the glass. Her shoulders were rigid, but she wasn’t crying.
“Dad gave her your books,” she said. “Did he give her my life too?”
I had no answer that could protect him.
Sophie’s phone vibrated again.
This time, she looked at the screen.
The school had posted a new announcement beneath Ivy’s photograph.
TOMORROW AT THREE: EVELYN HART AND THE GIRL WHO INSPIRED HER NEW NOVEL.
Sophie’s name appeared below it.
“I never agreed to that.”
I opened the event page. The front row was reserved for the author’s family and major donors. Daniel Bennett had already claimed two seats.
He intended to sit beside Ivy while she used our daughter to prove that my life belonged to her.
A third seat was still available.
“You don’t have to go onstage,” I told Sophie. “You don’t have to explain anything for me. You only have to decide whether you want me there.”
She nodded.
I claimed the seat.
Tomorrow, Ivy expected to put my daughter onstage and call her life fiction.
She didn’t know I would be sitting close enough to the microphone to answer.