Chapter 5 - My Mother’s Confession
I wanted my mother gone.
Instead, she stayed for dinner.
Not because I forgave her.
Because I had spent fifteen years begging people to tell me the truth.
When one finally started, I was not going to interrupt.
Helen sat across from me at Hannah’s kitchen table.
Ben had taken their children to his parents’ house for the evening.
Hannah remained nearby.
My mother noticed.
“You don’t trust me.”
Hannah answered before I could.
“No.”
Helen nodded.
“Fair.”
I almost smiled.
My mother looked at me.
“I met Grant at a fundraiser.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the version I told you.”
The version was that Grant entered our lives after Thomas’s death.
A kind attorney helping a grieving widow manage legal problems.
A lie.
“He had been advising one of your father’s clients,” she continued.
“They became friends?”
“No.”
“Enemies?”
“Not initially.”
Grant noticed Helen first.
The affair began quietly.
Coffee.
Lunch.
Then hotel rooms.
My stomach twisted.
“I don’t need details.”
“Good.”
Helen stared at her hands.
“Grant told me Thomas was going to lose everything.”
“Because Grant was helping make that happen.”
“I didn’t know that at first.”
“Did you ever ask why he knew?”
“No.”
Her honesty was brutal.
“I wanted to believe he was protecting me.”
My mother had been thirty-eight.
Frustrated by a marriage consumed by Thomas’s work.
Flattered by a younger attorney who told her she deserved more.
Grant began asking questions about Thomas’s files.
“He said if Thomas was being investigated, we needed copies to protect family assets.”
“So you gave them to him.”
“Yes.”
“What files?”
“Client lists. Bank statements. Correspondence.”
My eyes burned.
“You gave him everything needed to destroy Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Did Grant tell you what Roman was doing?”
“Not until later.”
“How much later?”
“After the first lawsuit.”
I stared.
“And you still stayed with him.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of Grant?”
“Of the truth.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That seems to be our family religion.”
She accepted that.
My father began suspecting Helen.
He confronted her two months before the company closed.
She lied.
Then he found hotel receipts.
Everything came out.
“He wanted me to leave,” Helen whispered.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I did.”
That surprised me.
“For six days.”
“Where?”
“My sister’s.”
I barely remembered.
I had been told Mom was helping Aunt Diane after surgery.
Helen continued.
“Thomas called me.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to try again.”
My throat closed.
Of course he did.
My father believed broken things were invitations to repair.
He had once spent an entire Sunday fixing a twelve-dollar toaster because throwing it away “felt like surrender.”
“He forgave you.”
“Yes.”
“And you went back to Grant after he died.”
Helen sobbed.
“I know.”
I stood.
I could not sit anymore.
“You know what I thought?”
She looked up.
“I thought Dad’s death made you vulnerable.”
“It did.”
“I thought Grant took advantage of a widow.”
“He did.”
“But you had already chosen him.”
“Yes.”
I walked toward the window.
My daughter moved.
I pressed my palm against her.
The baby was innocent.
That thought became an anchor.
“I need to ask something.”
Helen waited.
“Did Dad know I was investigating?”
“No.”
“He died before.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know about Claire?”
My mother’s face changed.
I turned.
“What?”
“Paige.”
“What?”
She looked terrified.
That was when I knew there was another secret.
I laughed once.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Tell me.”
Helen closed her eyes.
“Grant may not be Claire’s biological father.”
Silence.
Hannah stopped moving.
I stared at my mother.
“What?”
Helen covered her face.
“I was already pregnant when Grant and I—”
“No.”
My stomach turned.
“No. You told us—”
“I know.”
“Then whose daughter is she?”
Helen looked at me.
“Thomas’s.”
The room disappeared.
My sister.
The sister whose father I had spent four years accusing.
The sister who defended Grant as though my investigation attacked her own blood.
Claire was Thomas Barrett’s daughter too.
My full sister.
Not my half-sister.
I sat because my legs stopped working.
“That’s impossible.”
“It isn’t.”
“She’s three years younger.”
“Yes.”
“You were married to Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Grant—”
“He believed Claire was his.”
“For how long?”
“Until she was twelve.”
My chest tightened.
One year before Dad died.
“How did he find out?”
“A blood test.”
“For what?”
“She needed surgery. It was minor. Blood typing created questions.”
I remembered.
Claire had her tonsils removed.
There had been some complication.
I had not understood.
“Dad knew?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Grant confronted me. Thomas overheard.”
I covered my mouth.
The timeline rearranged itself.
Grant learned Claire was not his.
Then months later he helped destroy Thomas’s business.
“This wasn’t only money.”
Helen shook her head.
“No.”
“It was revenge.”
“Partly.”
I stood again.
My father had unknowingly raised the child Grant believed was his.
Then Grant learned the truth.
Roman needed someone willing to help ruin Thomas Barrett.
Grant had motive waiting for opportunity.
“Oh my God.”
I whispered it.
Then another thought struck.
“Does Claire know?”
Helen said nothing.
I stared.
“Does Claire know?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
Exactly when Claire and I stopped speaking.
I remembered her rage.
Her insistence that I was destroying Dad.
But when she said Dad, I assumed Grant.
Maybe she had been talking about Thomas.
“What did she say?”
“She hated me.”
“Reasonable.”
“She hated Thomas too.”
My heart broke.
“Why?”
“Because he knew.”
I frowned.
“Knew what?”
“That Grant believed Claire was his daughter.”
My mother cried.
“Thomas wanted to tell Claire the truth after everything calmed down.”
“It never calmed down.”
“No.”
“And Grant?”
“He continued acting like her father.”
“Why?”
“Pride.”
Of course.
Grant Mercer could not publicly admit another man’s daughter carried his name.
So he raised Claire as his own.
Then helped destroy her biological father.
Claire learned all of this at twenty-four.
And instead of directing her anger at Grant, she directed it at me.
Why?
Because I had already begun exposing the story she had built her identity around.
Hannah whispered, “Jesus.”
I looked at my mother.
“Claire withheld Victor’s affidavit because it proves Grant helped destroy her real father.”
“Yes.”
“So why protect Grant?”
Helen shook her head.
“She isn’t protecting him.”
“Then what is she doing?”
“I think she wants everyone to hurt.”
That sentence chilled me.
My mother continued.
“When Claire learned the truth, she said something I’ll never forget.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘If nobody in this family knew who they loved, why should any of you get to keep it?’”
I sat back down.
Suddenly the hotel night looked different.
Claire did not want Luke because she loved him.
She wanted proof that love could be corrupted.
If Luke betrayed me with her, then my marriage became evidence for Claire’s worldview.
Nobody was loyal.
Nobody was chosen.
Nothing was sacred.
My prepaid phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
Hannah said, “Don’t.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then Claire.
“You finally told her?”
My mother went pale.
“How did you get this number?”
Claire laughed softly.
“Mom always underestimates technology.”
Hannah grabbed her laptop.
Claire continued.
“So now you know.”
My hand tightened.
“You’re Dad’s daughter.”
“Apparently.”
“Claire—”
“Don’t.”
Her voice became sharp.
“You don’t get to sound emotional now.”
“Why did you go to Luke?”
“Because he deserved the truth.”
“You gave him half the truth.”
“Like you gave him none?”
That hit.
I did not defend myself.
“You’re right.”
Silence.
I continued.
“I lied to him.”
Claire seemed surprised.
“I was wrong.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Become reasonable after you’ve already taken everything.”
My chest tightened.
“What did I take from you?”
“Dad.”
“Thomas was my father too.”
“He loved you more.”
“That’s not true.”
“You remember him.”
I stopped.
Claire’s voice broke.
“You got memories. Fishing trips. Homework. Learning to drive.”
She was crying now.
“I got Grant.”
My anger shifted.
Not gone.
Complicated.
“You were thirteen when Thomas died.”
“And he spent those years looking at me knowing another man claimed me.”
“Claire—”
“He should have told me.”
“Maybe.”
“You defend him.”
“No.”
“You always defend dead people because they can’t disappoint you.”
That sentence hurt because it was clever enough to contain truth.
Claire whispered, “Luke disappointed you, though.”
I closed my eyes.
“What happened?”
She laughed.
“Ask your husband.”
“I’m asking you.”
“He kissed me.”
My throat tightened.
My daughter kicked hard.
“Did you sleep together?”
Silence.
“Claire.”
Another pause.
“No.”
I stopped breathing.
She continued.
“He wanted to.”
“Don’t.”
“He took off his ring.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Anything beyond the kiss?”
“No.”
Relief hit me so violently I hated myself for feeling it.
Claire heard my breath change.
“You’re happy.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m devastated.”
“But relieved.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
She laughed bitterly.
“That’s the problem with you, Paige. People betray you halfway and you turn it into proof they’re good.”
I whispered, “Why are you telling me?”
“Because I don’t want you blaming me for something I didn’t get.”
The cruelty returned.
Hannah mouthed hang up.
I ignored her.
“Where is Grant?”
Silence.
“Claire.”
“I don’t know.”
“He called Mom.”
“I know.”
“Is he looking for Dad’s files?”
“Yes.”
My spine stiffened.
“Why?”
“Because there’s one document you haven’t found.”
Every person in the room froze.
“What document?”
Claire breathed.
May you like
Then whispered, “The one proving Thomas Barrett’s heart attack wasn’t as natural as everyone believed.”
The call ended.
