Chapter 12 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPHS
The woman in the photographs was named Rachel Dunn.
Thirty-four.
Corporate attorney.
Single.
Former outside counsel for Mercer Development.
I stared at the images until the faces blurred.
Dominic had his hand on her back in one.
In another, she was kissing his cheek.
I felt nothing at first.
That scared me.
Amanda sat quietly.
Finally I asked,
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You brought me photos but don’t know?”
“I said I was bad at this.”
I looked at her.
She actually looked embarrassed.
That tiny awkwardness made the whole thing feel more real.
I called Dominic.
He answered immediately.
“Did they find my mother?”
“Who is Rachel?”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Dominic.”
“It’s not what you think.”
I laughed.
“Do men practice that sentence?”
“Vivienne—”
“How long?”
“Nothing happened.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He breathed.
“Six months.”
Amanda looked away.
I felt a sharp pressure in my chest.
Not jealousy exactly.
Something quieter.
Grief.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
I waited.
He added,
“We kissed.”
There it was.
A real mistake.
Not accidental.
Not misunderstood.
Chosen.
“When?”
“Three times.”
I almost smiled.
“Very specific.”
“I’m trying not to lie.”
“A little late.”
He started to speak.
I cut him off.
“Why?”
This time I wanted the ugly answer.
Not an excuse.
He gave it.
“Because she made me feel important.”
I looked down at my wedding ring.
There.
That was honest.
And selfish.
And painfully ordinary.
“You could’ve talked to me.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve left.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve done literally anything else.”
“I know.”
I pulled off my ring.
It took effort.
My fingers were swollen from pregnancy.
That almost made me laugh.
I placed it on the table.
“Thank you for finally telling the truth.”
He whispered,
“Is there any chance—”
“No.”
He stopped.
I hung up.
Amanda looked at the ring.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You don’t want to throw something?”
I thought about it.
“Maybe later.”
My father called next.
The files at Eleanor’s lake house were worse than expected.
My medical records.
Copies of prenatal appointments.
Notes about my sleep schedule.
Addresses.
Trust documents.
Old college photos.
Even a copy of my mother’s death certificate.
“Why?”
I asked.
My father didn’t know.
Then the police found one handwritten page.
Three names.
Mine.
My daughter’s planned name.
And Rachel Dunn.
My stomach dropped.
“Rachel?”
My father said,
“Yes.”
“What does she have to do with Eleanor?”
A pause.
“Apparently a lot.”
He sent me a photograph of the page.
Below Rachel’s name was one sentence.
IF DOMINIC FAILS, USE HER.
I stared at it.
Amanda leaned over.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Before I could answer, the hotel doors opened.
A woman walked in.
Dark coat.
Hair pulled back.
Face pale.
I recognized her from the photos.
Rachel Dunn.
She looked directly at me.
“Vivienne?”
I stood.
She raised both hands.
“I’m not here to fight with you.”
May you like
Her voice shook.
“I’m here because Eleanor tried to pay me to destroy your marriage.”
