I looked down at my black dress and folded apron.
Then I looked toward Ethan.
He was standing near the fireplace, pale and silent.
He knew something.
Or he was terrified I would discover it.
While I prepared the food, Khloe leaned close to one of her friends near the pantry.
“She lost nearly everything after William died,” she whispered.
Her friend glanced toward me with pity.
Khloe sighed.
“We’re practically saints for taking her in.”
The knife stopped in my hand.
She had no idea that I had built companies beside my husband.
She had no idea I had signed payroll during recessions, saved hundreds of employees from ruin, or managed accounts larger than anything she had ever seen.
Most of all, she had no idea what was inside the sealed envelope our attorney had placed in my handbag after the funeral.
When Khloe raised her champagne glass and announced that “family was built on sacrifice,” I finally walked into the dining room.
Every conversation stopped.
Ethan turned white.
Khloe’s smile disappeared.
I placed the envelope on the table and looked directly at my son.
“This house,” I said quietly, “was bought with my money.”
Ethan rose so quickly his chair struck the floor.
“What did you do?” Khloe demanded.
I opened the envelope.
And before I could reveal what was inside, the attorney entered behind me, holding a document that made Ethan whisper, “No…”
Mr. Mercer’s thumb rested beneath a signature that looked almost like mine.
Almost.
The final letter rose into a little hook. Mine had not done that since arthritis began stiffening my hand.
A spoon slipped against a plate.
“I rang twice,” he said. “Your guest let me in.”
The woman beside the pantry lowered her eyes. Behind him, the front door stood open to the rain.
