Chapter 3 - The Secret Rosemary DiscoveredAmber stood immediately.
“What?”
Harold remained calm.
“Mrs. Hayes became suspicious shortly before her condition worsened.”
Tristan looked horrified.
“What did she investigate?”
I didn't answer.
Harold opened his briefcase.
Inside was a thick report.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
Hotel records.
Flight records.
Emails.
Messages.
Everything.
Tristan stared at the first photograph.
It showed him with Amber.
In Vancouver.
Holding hands.
Entering a hotel.
Another photograph showed Amber pregnant.
Another showed Tristan buying baby furniture.
Another showed a bank transfer.
Tristan's face went pale.
“Who did this?”
“Your mother,” Harold said.
“When?”
“Six months before her death.”
Tristan dropped the photographs.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
Amber's voice trembled.
“You told me she didn't know about us.”
Tristan looked at her.
“I thought she didn't.”
Harold placed another document on the table.
“This is a letter from Mrs. Hayes to Amber.”
Amber stared.
“To me?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated before taking it.
She read the first paragraph.
Then her expression changed.
“What does this mean?”
I stepped closer.
“What did she say?”
Amber looked at me.
“She says she knows the baby isn't Tristan's.”
The room went silent.
Tristan slowly turned toward Amber.
“What?”
Amber backed away.
“That's not true.”
Harold placed a DNA report on the table.
Tristan picked it up.
His eyes scanned the page.
“No.”
He looked at Amber.
“No.”
She began crying.
“Tristan, listen to me.”
“Is he my son?”
Amber couldn't answer.
“Is he?”
She finally whispered:
“No.”
Tristan staggered backward.
The baby began crying.
Amber held him tighter.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I was scared.”
“You told me he was mine.”
“I needed someone.”
“You used me.”
Amber sobbed.
“You said you loved me.”
Tristan looked devastated.
Then he turned toward me.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
I looked at Rosemary's photograph.
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She wanted you to discover the truth yourself.”
He closed his eyes.
Then he looked at the will.
“Why give you the house?”
I answered quietly.
“Because I stayed.”
He looked at me.
“I cared for her.”
“I know.”
“I paid her bills.”
“I know.”
“I was there when she couldn't walk.”
“I know.”
“I held her hand when she died.”
Tristan's eyes filled.
“You were her daughter.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“I was her caregiver.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“But she treated me like family.”
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