Listening was wrong, even if they were clearly discussing me, but my fingers would not move.
Thomas spoke again.
“Does she know about the apartment?”
“No.”
“The money?”
“No.”
“And Rachel?”
Patricia was silent for two long seconds.
Then she said, “Emily knows nothing about Rachel.”
The name struck me immediately.
Rachel Moore.
Nathan’s former wife.
They had married when Nathan was twenty-seven and divorced two years later, long before I met him. Nathan rarely spoke about her, and when he did, he described the marriage as a youthful mistake between two people who wanted different lives.
He had told me they had not spoken in more than a decade.
Thomas’s voice became sharper.
“When Emily finds out, she’ll take Sophie and leave.”
“That is why Nathan needs more time.”
“He has already had almost a year.”
“Rachel has waited long enough,” Patricia replied. “A few more weeks won’t matter.”
I gripped the edge of the counter.
Almost a year?
Nathan had been seeing his former wife for almost a year?
At the table, Sophie looked up.
“Mom?”
I raised one finger, asking her to wait.
Thomas continued.
“And what happens when Emily discovers the apartment was paid for with their savings?”
“She won’t.”
“She checks the accounts.”
“Nathan moved the money through the family trust.”
My chest tightened.
Nathan and I had spent four years saving for a larger home closer to Sophie’s school. I deposited part of every paycheck into that account, while Nathan managed the investments because he understood financial planning better than I did.
At least, that was what I had believed.
Thomas lowered his voice.
“You’re helping him lie to his wife.”
“I’m helping my son correct a mistake.”
“Emily is not a mistake.”
Patricia answered without hesitation.
“She was never supposed to be permanent.”
The knife slipped from my hand and struck the cutting board.
Sophie jumped.
I ended the call immediately.
For several seconds, I could not breathe.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I dropped the knife.”
She accepted the explanation and returned to her drawing.
I stared at the dark phone screen.
Patricia had never been openly cruel to me, but I had always sensed that she considered me temporary, even after eleven years of marriage.
Rachel had come from one of the oldest families in Westmere. Her father owned hotels and country clubs. She and Nathan had attended the same private schools and belonged to the same social circle.
I was the daughter of a nurse and a mechanic from the smaller town of Briar Glen.
Nathan once told me that marrying me had been the first decision he made without seeking his mother’s approval.
At the time, I had found that romantic.
Now I wondered whether Patricia had spent eleven years waiting for him to reverse it.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Nathan entered the kitchen wearing dark trousers and a white shirt, his wet hair combed back from his forehead.
He smiled at Sophie, then leaned down to kiss my cheek.
I stepped away before his lips touched me.
