Chapter 6 - The Woman Behind the Lies
I drove home with a terrible feeling in my chest.
Two airline tickets.
Denise had bought two tickets, but Tasha was sitting in my attorney's office when I'd learned about them.
Who was supposed to leave with her?
I called Maya immediately.
She answered on the second ring.
"Dad?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Where are you?"
"In the kitchen."
"Is anyone there?"
"No."
I exhaled.
I had arranged for my sister Rachel to stay with Maya whenever I had to leave for work or legal meetings.
Rachel was on her way over.
"Don't open the door for anyone until Aunt Rachel gets there."
Maya went quiet.
"Dad, is Denise coming back?"
"I don't know."
"Are you scared?"
The question surprised me.
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to be the father who never worried.
But Maya deserved honesty.
"I'm concerned," I said. "And I'm taking precautions."
She whispered, "Okay."
"I love you."
"Love you too, Dad."
I ended the call and drove faster.
When I arrived, Rachel's car was already in the driveway.
She stood on the porch with Maya beside her.
I hugged them both.
Rachel had always been direct.
She was forty-five, fiercely protective, and had never been particularly fond of Denise.
"I should have told you," she said as soon as Maya went upstairs.
I looked at her.
"Told me what?"
Rachel's eyes filled with regret.
"Last Thanksgiving, I heard Denise arguing with Maya."
My stomach tightened.
"About what?"
"Alicia."
I closed my eyes.
Rachel continued.
"Denise said Maya needed to stop acting like the house belonged to her mother."
I felt sick.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
I looked at her.
She nodded sadly.
"I mentioned it while you were dealing with that emergency at the shop. You said Denise was having a stressful week and that you'd handle it."
I remembered.
Another conversation I'd dismissed.
Another chance I'd missed.
"I thought you were avoiding the subject," Rachel whispered. "I should have pushed harder."
I shook my head.
"No. I should have listened."
Rachel squeezed my arm.
"Well, you're listening now."
That evening, Maya brought a small wooden box into the living room.
It contained Alicia's jewelry.
A few photographs.
Birthday cards.
And the silver bracelet Alicia had worn during her final months.
Maya placed it on the coffee table.
"Dad, I need to show you something."
I sat beside her.
She opened the box.
Under a photograph was a folded piece of paper.
I recognized Alicia's handwriting.
My throat tightened.
"Where did you find that?"
"Mom put it here before she got sick."
I unfolded the letter carefully.
It was addressed to Maya.
Alicia had written it when our daughter was still little.
She spoke about kindness.
Courage.
And how being loved had nothing to do with money or expensive gifts.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
My eyes blurred.
Alicia had written that she hoped Maya would always know she deserved respect, even from people who claimed to love her.
I looked at my daughter.
She was watching me.
"Denise read that letter," Maya whispered.
My heart sank.
"When?"
"Last year."
"What did she say?"
Maya swallowed.
"She said Mom was trying to make me think I was special."
I stared at her.
"Sweetheart—"
"And she said I needed to stop living in the past."
I put the letter down.
For years, I'd thought Denise struggled with the memory of Alicia.
Now I understood something more painful.
She resented the love Alicia had left behind.
And she'd taken that resentment out on a child.
Maya leaned against me.
"I stopped opening the box after that."
I wrapped my arm around her.
"You never have to hide your memories of Mom again."
She began crying softly.
I held her until she fell asleep against my shoulder.
Later that night, Evelyn called.
She had uncovered something important.
Calvin Price had provided documents to his attorney, who was in contact with investigators.
The records suggested Denise had made several large payments connected to a failed investment venture.
But the venture wasn't hers alone.
She had partnered with someone.
A man named Raymond Ellis.
I didn't recognize the name.
Until Evelyn sent me a photograph from an old business registration.
I stared at my phone.
The man standing beside Denise had a broad smile and a small scar above his eyebrow.
I knew him.
He'd attended our wedding.
Denise introduced him as her cousin.
Raymond had shaken my hand and told me I was a lucky man.
Now Evelyn was telling me he'd been involved in a questionable investment operation with my wife.
I felt cold.
"He's not her cousin," Evelyn said.
"What?"
"Public records indicate they previously lived at the same address for several years."
I stared at the photograph.
"Together?"
"That's what the records suggest."
My pulse hammered.
"Are you saying she had a relationship with him?"
"I can't establish the nature of their relationship from an address record alone."
But I remembered how Raymond looked at Denise.
How he hugged her at our wedding.
How she introduced him quickly and changed the subject.
I began searching old photographs.
There he was at our wedding.
Then at a cookout three years earlier.
And again at a restaurant with Denise and Tasha, in a picture Denise had once posted publicly.
I stared at the screen.
All this time, Raymond had been part of our lives.
Not constantly.
Just enough that I never questioned him.
I called Tasha.
She answered sleepily.
"Marcus?"
"Who is Raymond Ellis?"
Silence.
"Tasha?"
Her breathing changed.
"Why are you asking?"
"Because he's involved in the financial investigation."
She didn't answer.
I waited.
Then she whispered, "Mom told me never to talk about him."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because she said you'd leave us."
I closed my eyes.
"Who is he?"
Tasha began crying.
"I don't know how to tell you."
"Tell me the truth."
A long pause.
Then she whispered, "Raymond isn't my uncle."
I gripped the phone.
"Who is he?"
"He's my father."
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything.
Denise had told me Tasha's father died when she was a child.
I'd believed her.
I'd comforted Tasha when she talked about growing up without him.
I'd helped pay for her college classes.
Bought her birthday presents.
Treated her like my own daughter.
And all that time, her father had been alive.
Still involved with Denise.
Still appearing at family gatherings.
I sat down slowly.
"Tasha, how long have you known?"
She was crying so hard she struggled to answer.
"Since I was fourteen."
I felt something inside me collapse.
"And you never told me?"
"Mom said you'd throw us out."
I pressed my fingers against my eyes.
I was angry.
Heartbroken.
Humiliated.
But beneath everything else was a terrible question.
Had Denise ever loved me?
Or had I simply been the man with the house, the business, and the bank accounts?
Before I could speak, Tasha whispered again.
"Marcus, there's something else."
I closed my eyes.
"What?"
"Raymond told Mom they needed your money because the business was collapsing."
I sat upright.
"What business?"
"The investment company."
I held my breath.
"And?"
She began sobbing.
"Mom said if you found out, she'd make sure you lost everything before you could divorce her."
I stared into the darkness.
My marriage hadn't simply fallen apart.
May you like
It had become a trap.
And Denise had been planning her escape for months.
