Page 11

Brooklyn

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I have no idea why I asked him to stay. Dr. Athanasios is my doctor and nothing more.

It wasn’t something I thought through—it was just a gut feeling that I wanted him nearby.

I try to blame it on the fact that seeing this powerful man hugging my children affected me deeply. That might have contributed because, until now, even though I’d never admit it out loud, I really did see him as a "god." Seeing him with my kids made him human in my eyes. Someone real.

But the biggest reason I want him here is that I’m terrified. Dr. Athanasios seems like the kind of person who can face anything life throws at him. I used to feel that way about myself too, but that night changed me forever.

A thin line of sweat trickles down my back as I watch the three men—Zeus, the police investigator, and the lawyer my brother-in-law hired—settle into chairs they’ve brought closer to the hospital bed.

Athanasios, unlike the others, remains standing, almost by my side.

Feeling fear is something I despise.

Madison and I, having spent most of our childhood alone, learned to defend ourselves against the world—including some neighbors who tried to get too friendly because they knew my sister and I were without adult supervision.

We always managed to scare them off and grew up with the certainty that we could handle anything. But today, the thought of revisiting my nightmare makes me want to cry, and I hate feeling weak.

"You don’t need to stay," my brother-in-law tells Athanasios.

"Brooklyn wants me here."

I look from one to the other, confused by the cold tone they’re using. Madison told me the doctor is a friend of the Kostanidis family—her husband’s family—so what’s the problem?

"Why?" Madison’s husband now directs his question at me.

I’d rather cut off an arm than admit in front of the detective and lawyer that I’m so scared it’s making me feel physically ill. "I want him to stay," I say, not looking at Zeus but at the doctor. At this moment, he is my ally. He’s the one to whom I’ve confessed my weakness.

"Shall we begin, Miss Foster?" the detective asks.

"Yes, we can."

"One moment," the lawyer interrupts. "Miss Foster, if there’s any question you’re unsure about answering, consult me first."

"I have nothing to hide, sir."

"Understood," the lawyer says, unfazed. "In that case, let’s begin your statement."

For the first twenty minutes, the detective asks me to detail how I met Moses and how long after that we moved in together.

I’m not embarrassed to admit I only moved into his house because I got pregnant. I explained that I wanted to provide a complete family for my children, since I grew up with just one parent—and even that parent was absent.

What almost broke my pride, though, I don’t confess: that just a couple of months after moving in with him, I felt like a needy fool for falling for the first jerk who showed interest in me beyond my body.

I was a na?ve virgin. I thought I was in love, but looking back, I realize it was mostly hormones making me believe there were feelings where there was only physical attraction.

No, I can’t blame it all on hormones. There was also the fact that I wanted to rewrite my story. To show the world that, no matter how little I grew up with, I could do better for my children.

I force myself to focus on the questions the detective is asking. Now the man wants to know if I knew any of my ex-partner’s relatives.

I tell him Moses claimed to have no immediate family, saying he was an orphan. I also revealed that Moses assured me his extended family was small, with only a few distant aunts.

The man looks at me with disbelief, maybe even a little condescension. I don’t understand why.

"Excuse me, but are the questions one-sided, or can I ask you something?" I ask.

"You can, of course."

"No offense, but why did you look at me as if I were na?ve when I told you the father of my children had no living relatives?"

"Because you couldn’t have been able to know for sure."

"I don’t understand."

"We’ll get to that, Miss Foster."

I have to steady myself to avoid trembling. Something tells me what I knew about Moses was just the tip of the iceberg—something I’d already begun to suspect before his death.

"I don’t think I can keep answering your questions if you’re not honest with me, sir," I admit, dropping the mask of calm. "How can you expect me to share everything about our life without knowing whether it could hurt me?"

"It won’t, Brooklyn," Zeus interjects. "We’d never let you say anything that could harm you. But I agree that you have the right to know the truth." He looks at the detective, who sighs.

"Fine, I was trying to spare you for now, given your health condition. But if you prefer bluntness, when I said you couldn’t know if your ex-partner had living relatives, it’s because, legally speaking, Moses Raines doesn’t exist."

"What?"

"Let me explain it differently. The man you knew as Moses Raines also went by the name Wren Floding and at least five other . . . aliases, let’s call them. None of them are his real name. They all belong to people who’ve been dead for decades."

"Oh my God!" My gasp sounds like the anguished cry of a wounded animal trapped in a snare.

"Brooklyn, are you feeling alright?" Athanasios, who has remained a silent observer until now, asks.

"No, I’m fine. Just in shock."

Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?

Of course, there came a point when I found his work hours odd, but that was near the end—after the babies were born and I’d decided to leave. Never, though, did it cross my mind that he was using a fake identity. Several, according to what the detective just revealed.

"I had no idea about any of this. Why would someone do such a thing?"

"Possibly because they have a lot to hide," the man replies.

"Are you telling me the father of my children was a criminal?"

"We can’t say for sure yet, but there are several indications that he might have been. Now that I’ve disclosed that you were living with a man who doesn’t legally exist, let’s focus on the night of the incident. What exactly do you remember?"

I clasp my hands tightly in my lap, trying to stop them from trembling.

I glance at Athanasios, and he’s looking back at me.

"You can do this. You came out of a coma, Brooklyn. You can do anything."

I nod and turn my attention back to the detective, silently grateful for the doctor’s faith in me. "I think it must have been around two in the morning because I wasn’t in a deep sleep. I’d gotten up not long before to nurse the babies," I begin, praying my voice will remain steady. "I heard a noise downstairs. Nothing too alarming, but after the babies were born, I was always on high alert, listening for any sound on the baby monitor."

"Did you get up?"

"No. I checked the baby monitor on the bedside table. It was positioned above the crib where the two of them slept together, and I saw that they were sound asleep. I closed my eyes again, thinking it was just my imagination. I was almost asleep when I became certain someone was walking down the hallway. I looked to the side and saw Moses was still asleep, so it wasn’t him. That’s when I realized someone had broken into our house."