Chapter 6 - THE LIE THAT STOLE THIRTY-FOUR YEARS
For a moment, I couldn't move.
My father had lied about so many things that I thought I was prepared for another confession.
I wasn't prepared for this one.
“You told Eleanor I thought she was dead?”
Richard shook his head.
“No. I told her that if she kept trying to contact you, we'd eventually have to explain everything. That it would destroy your sense of security.”
I stared at him.
“That's not your decision to make.”
“I know.”
“Did you actually tell me she died?”
“No. We told you your birth mother couldn't raise you. Eventually you stopped asking.”
I remembered.
I remembered being fourteen and discovering that Carol wasn't my biological mother.
She told me I had been adopted.
She said my birth mother had chosen another life.
And when I asked whether I could meet her, Carol said searching would only cause pain.
I'd never known the woman's name.
“You let me believe she didn't want me.”
Richard nodded.
It was such a small movement.
Such an enormous betrayal.
“Why?”
He looked toward the ballroom.
“Because we were afraid you'd leave us.”
The answer made me angrier than any excuse could have.
“You had thirty-four years to be my parents. You didn't have to steal my other mother to keep me.”
He covered his face.
I waited.
For an explanation.
For something that might make sense.
Instead he whispered, “You're right.”
I had wanted those words from him all my life.
They arrived too late to feel satisfying.
Daniel came into the hallway.
“Ivy, I've located the records firm Ruth used. Their successor company still maintains archived files.”
“Can we see the report?”
“They've agreed to verify the file tomorrow, but there's more immediate trouble.”
He showed me a report from Willow Gate Holdings' bookkeeping system.
Over the previous nine months, payments totaling $74,800 had been directed toward Bellamy Events expenses under misleading maintenance descriptions.
I recognized the entries.
New flooring.
Electrical improvements.
Emergency roof work.
Expenses I had approved because I believed they were necessary to protect Meadowgate.
But the supporting invoices named venues and suppliers outside the estate.
My heart sank.
“Claire?”
Daniel nodded.
“The payment descriptions appear to have been altered before reaching your office.”
I walked straight into the ballroom.
Claire was sitting alone at the table where she'd thrown my dinner.
Her champagne remained untouched.
I placed the transaction report in front of her.
“Did you do this?”
She read it.
Her face went pale.
“I didn't know you had those.”
“That isn't an answer.”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
My stomach twisted.
“How could you?”
“Mom said it was temporary.”
I turned toward Carol.
She stood near the window.
For once, she didn't argue.
Claire's voice grew shaky.
“I was desperate, Ivy. I had wedding deposits to cover, employees to pay, vendors threatening lawsuits. Mom said Meadowgate belonged to the family anyway.”
“It belongs to Willow Gate Holdings.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew I controlled it.”
“Yes.”
“And you took the money anyway.”
She nodded.
I wished she'd denied it.
I wished there were some misunderstanding that would allow me to look at her without feeling sick.
Instead, she whispered, “I'm sorry.”
I thought about all those months she'd mocked my bookkeeping.
Perhaps she hadn't mocked it because she believed the work was beneath her.
Perhaps she'd mocked it because she feared what I'd discover.
“I'm going to have an independent accounting done,” I said.
Claire wiped her cheeks.
“Will you call the police?”
“I don't know yet. First I need to know the full extent of what happened.”
Mother stepped forward.
“You can't destroy your sister's life over money.”
I turned.
“Money Grandma trusted me to protect.”
Carol's expression tightened.
“She trusted you with everything.”
There it was again.
That old wound.
“What did Grandma take from you?” I asked.
Carol looked startled.
“Excuse me?”
“You keep talking as though she wronged you. Tell me what happened.”
Richard spoke.
“Carol.”
“No,” I said. “I want to hear it.”
Mother pressed her hands together.
“When Eleanor got pregnant, Ruth practically moved heaven and earth for her. She gave her a place to stay. Paid her medical bills. Helped her find work.”
“That sounds like Grandma.”
Carol laughed bitterly.
“And when Richard and I couldn't have another child after Claire, Ruth told us that perhaps taking care of Eleanor's baby would be a blessing.”
I felt a sharp ache.
“So you wanted me?”
Carol looked directly at me.
“More than you could ever know.”
Her voice was genuine.
And that made what came next worse.
“But Ruth never let us forget where you came from.”
“What do you mean?”
“She kept saying you deserved to know Eleanor. She wanted letters delivered. Photographs saved. Visits arranged.”
My breath caught.
“Visits?”
Carol lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Richard leaned against the wall.
“Eleanor tried to come back.”
I closed my hands.
“How many times?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad.”
“Three times while you were little. Maybe more afterward.”
My eyes burned.
I remembered standing at the window when I was five.
A woman in a blue coat had been walking away from the front gate.
I'd asked Grandma who she was.
Grandma had said, “Someone who loves you.”
For years I'd assumed she meant a distant relative.
Now that memory felt like a wound reopening.
“Was she wearing a blue coat?” I whispered.
Richard looked startled.
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
I sat.
I'd seen my mother.
And nobody had told me.
Margaret appeared beside me and rested a hand on my shoulder.
“Ruth argued with them about that day,” she said softly.
Carol began to cry.
“You don't understand what it was like. Claire was already struggling. Every time Eleanor appeared, Ruth treated you like you belonged somewhere else.”
“I belonged with people who loved me,” I answered. “That could have included all of you.”
Carol covered her face.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Claire did something unexpected.
She moved her chair closer to mine.
Not touching me.
Just close enough to speak privately.
“I remember the blue coat,” she whispered.
I turned.
“You do?”
She nodded.
“I was seven. Mom told me she was a woman trying to take you away.”
My heart pounded.
“What else?”
Claire looked miserable.
“I hid something.”
“What?”
“She gave me a little envelope. Asked me to give it to you when we were older.”
I stared at her.
“Where is it?”
“At my house.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Claire's eyes filled.
“Because I was scared you'd love her more than us.”
The answer broke something in me.
Claire had been a child, frightened of losing her sister.
Our parents had allowed that fear to become resentment.
“What was in the envelope?” I asked.
“I never opened it.”
I studied her face.
For the first time all evening, I believed her.
Then she reached into her bag and removed an old photograph.
Two little girls stood beside Meadowgate's fountain.
Claire wore a pink dress.
I wore yellow.
Behind us, almost hidden by the trees, stood the woman in the blue coat.
Claire touched the edge of the picture.
“I kept it because I remembered how happy you looked that day.”
I stared at Eleanor.
She wasn't looking at Claire.
She wasn't looking at the camera.
She was watching me.
With an expression I understood immediately.
Love.
And grief.
May you like
Then Claire whispered something I never expected.
“Ivy, that wasn't the last time I saw her. I saw her again at Grandma's funeral.”
