Page 17

Eve

I ’m so thankful for the stubborn, pigheaded man in the basement that insisted on coming with me. I wrap my arms around myself, hoping to tamp down the cold chill hugging me.

I was prepared to find a collection of high-heeled shoes and thongs. A sex room filled with an adult toy collection. All sorts of depraved thoughts race through my mind about Zana and what I’d thought she could’ve left here. I’d expected just about anything imaginable—except for what we found.

What was Brandon doing with children in the basement?

My stomach clenches and spasms. I lean over the kitchen sink, heaving.

I run the water to clean the bile out of the otherwise immaculate sink.

I don’t want to believe my husband was a pervert or a child predator, but can I deny what I saw down there?

“I’m jumping to conclusions.” I try to convince myself in spite of the adrenaline roaring through my veins and the intense throbbing in my head .

With my hands holding on to the counter, I glance down and spot the kitchen drawers.

I looked inside every cabinet, but I didn’t look in the drawers.

One by one, I open them to find each empty.

Standing in front of the last two, I’m ready to give up.

I can’t. I know Brandon too well. There has to be something here. Some sort of explanation.

Then again, if I knew him as well as I want to believe I did, he never would’ve been able to lead a secret life.

He wouldn’t have bought a house without my knowledge, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten a message from his mistress.

Unless... Could he have hired her as a maid?

But what would she be cleaning in a house with no people, no furniture, and no food?

My hands tremble as I pull out the second to last drawer. Please find something. Please find something. I’m about to close it when I spot something all the way in the back. An envelope. I pull it out and see my name written in his familiar handwriting.

I breathe a little easier for a moment. If I was right about this, maybe I’m right that we’re misunderstanding what’s in the basement. We have to be. Brandon wasn’t the best husband. That’s a fact. And he might not have been father of the year, but he was an adequate father and a decent man.

Tate’s footsteps break through the quiet. He steps behind me and rests his hands on my hips with a feather-light touch.

“I deflated the mattresses and stuffed them in garbage bags along with the sheets. I wasn’t sure what to do with the stuffed animal and the other stuff. There were a few bottles of water and juice in the refrigerator. I tossed them too.”

I turn to face him, nod, and look down at the envelope in my hand. “Leave the other things down there.” I turn to look at the man helping me face the demons. “He left a letter.”

“You’re hoping for answers.”

I nod. “Whatever is in here might give me the answers I need.” Tate’s eyes trail off.

“My reading it won’t change anything between you and me.

But if I don’t... I need to know. If you want anything real with me, whatever that is, friendship, a romantic relationship, something in-between, I need to understand what went so wrong with Brandon. ”

Tate pulls me against his strong, powerful chest and kisses the top of my head. “I’m trying to understand why that’s so important to you. I don’t yet, but I’m trying.”

I squeeze him, appreciating him more and more as the hours tick by.

“Do you want some time to read the letter?”

I shake my head. “I want to get out of here. I’ll read it later.”

SITTING ON MY BED, I look at the bouquet of flowers Tate had delivered after he left me at home.

That’s after he stopped off to buy me flowers on the way.

He’s an amazing man, and while I’m not sure what is happening between us, he’s becoming the best part of my day and an important part of my life.

I flip the envelope over and stare at it like I’m expecting it to do something. I should toss it out. Whatever it says won’t change anything. Brandon doesn’t matter. He’s dead, and my life is moving forward. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.

If we just had a bad relationship and he died, I could let it go.

Or, at the very least, the letter might be a nice remembrance, not something I’m clinging to with desperation.

If I hadn’t discovered a mountain of lies after his death—a mountain of lies he meant for me to discover after his death—then maybe I could just dismiss the letter as him getting in the last word the way he did when we argued.

I know Tate doesn’t understand why I didn’t toss the letter out, especially after finding the creepy scene in the basement, but.

.. What I saw. It can’t be what it looked like.

It just can’t be. Brandon would never...

But how do I know what Brandon would or wouldn’t do?

He bought the house, a house he knew I wanted, and hid it from me.

He also left me more money than I ever dreamed of.

Done arguing with myself, I slip my finger under the corner of the envelope and tear it open.

My Dearest Evelyn,

If you're reading this, I am likely dead. Please forgive me. I have not been the husband you deserve. Those are my shortcomings, not yours, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t love you deeply.

I have a lot to tell you, but I’ll do my best to keep it brief. After we planned to divorce and set an approximate date, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted. I recommitted myself to you and our family, whether it showed or not.

Maybe my new and improved outlook changed my luck, but something wonderful happened.

One of the stocks I invested in took off.

We went from working class, living paycheck to paycheck, to very wealthy overnight.

I never told you because I wanted to do something big to surprise you, to show you how much I appreciate you.

You deserve much more than the life I gave you.

Things did change. I’m not crazy. A heaviness I don’t expect settles on my chest. The tears filling my eyes are also a surprise.

For years, I kept our dream house on alert.

It went on the market, and I knew that was going to be my special gift to you.

I sensed the sellers were desperate, and I was right.

The rest of the money went into the insurance policies to make sure you and Gemma would be well taken care of in the event something happened to me.

This explains where the money came from. But I still don’t understand why he didn’t tell me.

A little over a year ago, I was contacted by a woman, Vivian Shafer, claiming to be my sister.

I met with her a few times and had an investigator dig into her past, along with us both taking a DNA test. She is indeed my sister.

Again, I should’ve told you, but she begged for secrecy.

Her son-in-law is bad news. He’s threatened to kill my niece Zana and their three-year-old daughter Gigi so she can’t testify against him in a murder trial.

He was out on bail walking the streets and posed a real threat to my niece and great-niece. I hope you meet them. Gigi is sweet and beautiful and reminds me of Gemma when she was that age. I regret not having more children. That was selfish, and I know it was on me .

Zana needed someplace to stay that was off the radar, and I had the means to hide her.

They’ve been living in the basement ever since, and her husband is still out there.

Which means I couldn’t have you or Gemma going in and out of the house because it could put you both in danger.

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I don’t care if you sell the house, but if you do, please make sure Zana and Gigi have someplace to go and are not in danger.

They will be notified about my death and have been instructed not to return to the house, so it is safe for you, but you should be able to reach them through my lawyer.

As for the money, enjoy it. Invest in something that makes you happy.

This is your time, I only regret that I’m not there to share it with you. You are my heart.

Sincerely,

Brandon

Tears stream down my cheeks as I read the letter over and over. “Thank you,” I choke out, clutching the letter to my chest. It doesn’t change the facts of our marriage, but at least I know I wasn’t living with my head buried in the sand. “Thank you so much!” Whatever I thought we had was real.