Chương 8
“Cynthia,” Madeline said.
Rachel nodded.
“She became part of the picture quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Within months.”
Madeline's jaw tightened.
“Did everyone know?”
“Not everyone.”
Rachel hesitated.
“People suspected.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
Rachel looked at her.
“Would you have believed them?”
The question hurt because it was honest.
Madeline wanted to say yes.
She wanted to believe she would have seen the truth immediately.
But she remembered London.
She remembered how proud she was of Jeffrey.
How many times she defended him when coworkers made jokes about him being too charming.
How many times she said distance was temporary.
How many times she ignored small changes because accepting them would mean admitting she had made a terrible mistake.
“No,” Madeline whispered.
Rachel nodded.
“That is what people thought too.”
The admission made Madeline uncomfortable.
She hated that strangers might have seen what she could not.
“What happened after you saw Liam?”
“I confronted Jeffrey.”
Madeline looked up.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rachel looked surprised by the question.
“Because I was angry.”
The honesty was unexpected.
“I lost my job because of him.”
She looked at the papers.
“But seeing that child changed something.”
“What did he say?”
Rachel's expression hardened.
“He said I misunderstood.”
Madeline almost laughed.
Almost.
“That is what he always says.”
Rachel nodded.
“He told me Liam was difficult.”
Madeline looked at her.
“Difficult.”
“Yes.”
The same word again.
The word adults used when they wanted to describe a child without describing what they had done.
“What else?”
“He said you were the problem.”
Madeline felt her chest tighten.
“Me?”
“He said Liam couldn't accept that you chose work over him.”
The sentence was cruel because it contained just enough truth to sound believable.
Rachel watched her carefully.
“Did you?”
Madeline looked down.
“Did I choose work over him?”
Rachel did not answer.
She did not need to.
Madeline thought about the airport.
She thought about Liam crying into her coat.
She thought about the flight she almost canceled.
She thought about Jeffrey telling her she would regret giving up the opportunity.
The truth was complicated.
She had chosen something.
She had chosen ambition.
She had chosen trust.
She had chosen a future she thought she was building for her family.
But she had also trusted the wrong person with the present.
“I made mistakes,” Madeline said.
Rachel nodded.
“But mistakes are not the same as abandonment.”
The sentence stayed with her.
Madeline looked at the folder again.
“Do you have proof of what happened to Liam?”
Rachel looked uncomfortable.
“Not everything.”
“What do you have?”
“A recording.”
Madeline went still.
“Of what?”
“An argument.”
“With Jeffrey?”
“Yes.”
“About Liam?”
Rachel nodded.
“I recorded it because I was scared.”
Madeline leaned forward.
“Where is it?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Safe.”
“Rachel.”
“I need you to understand something.”
Her voice became firmer.
“If Jeffrey finds out I gave you this, he will destroy me.”
Madeline stared at her.
“Then why give it to me?”
Rachel looked toward the window.
“Because yesterday I saw your name on the news.”
“I wasn't on the news.”
“Not yet.”
Madeline frowned.
Rachel pulled out her phone and opened an article draft.
It was not published.
A reporter had been investigating financial issues involving Jeffrey's company.
Madeline read the headline.
Her expression changed.
“How long has this been happening?”
Rachel looked at her.
“Long enough that Jeffrey is desperate.”
The pieces began shifting.
The London assignment.
The money.
Cynthia.
Liam.
Madeline felt something cold move through her.
“What does my son have to do with the company?”
Rachel's face became serious.
“I don't know exactly.”
That answer frustrated Madeline.
“But I know Jeffrey started acting differently after he realized something.”
“What?”
“That Liam knew something.”
Madeline froze.
“He's four.”
“I know.”
“Rachel.”
“I know how it sounds.”
Rachel lowered her voice.
“But children see things.”
Madeline looked at her phone.
The recording from last night was still there.
Her son's voice.
Daddy said not to tell.
“What could he know?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I don't know.”
She looked directly at Madeline.
“But I think that is why Jeffrey was afraid of him.”
The coffee shop suddenly felt too loud.
Madeline heard cups moving.
People talking.
Machines running.
All the ordinary sounds of a morning that had nothing to do with her world collapsing.
She picked up the folder.
“I'm going back to the house.”
Rachel looked alarmed.
“Why?”
“Because I need something.”
“What?”
Madeline stood.
“The truth.”
Rachel grabbed her arm lightly.
“Madeline.”
She stopped.
“Be careful.”
Madeline looked down at Rachel's hand.
Then back at her face.
For the first time, she saw something beyond guilt.
Fear.
Real fear.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Rachel slowly released her arm.
“I think Jeffrey knows I contacted you.”
Madeline felt her phone vibrate.
A new message appeared.
From Jeffrey.
We need to talk before you make a mistake you can't undo.
Madeline stared at the message for several seconds.
Then she turned the phone face down.
She had spent too much of her life responding immediately to other people's emergencies.
Jeffrey's urgency had always become her responsibility.
His deadlines became her deadlines.
His problems became things she helped carry.
Not anymore.
She finished the coffee she had forgotten was sitting in front of her.
Then she picked up the folder Rachel had given her and walked outside.
She did not go back to the house because Jeffrey told her to.
She went because she needed to see what he would do when he no longer controlled the conversation.
When Madeline arrived at the Buckhead house, Jeffrey was waiting in the driveway.
He stood beside his car with his arms crossed.
The old version of her would have noticed how tired he looked.
She would have wondered if he had slept.
She would have looked for the man she married underneath the anger.
That instinct was still there.
She hated that it was.
“Where is Liam?” Jeffrey asked.
May you like
“At the apartment.”
His shoulders lowered slightly.
