Chapter 8

8

What? Marnie has children with Grant? Not just a child, but children —plural.

My legs tremble beneath me, and my nausea returns full force. I would be running back to the sink if there were anything left in my stomach.

"You're lying," I manage.

She shakes her head sadly. "He told me he had accounted for his family in his will, but then I discovered that there was no will. Everything went to you. And meanwhile, we are struggling not to lose our home."

I have no words. If this woman really is telling the truth—if Grant really did father children with her and she had no idea about my existence—then they do deserve part of his vast estate. But I'm having trouble comprehending this truth. Grant did work long hours at his business and even traveled a fair amount, but I still don't understand how he could have had a whole other family on the side.

"Here, let me show you something." Marnie digs into her purse and pulls out her phone. She scrolls through the screen, and when her fingers pause, she passes me the phone. "That's the two of us together."

I stare at the image on the screen of her phone, my eyes widening in disbelief. It's a picture of Marnie and Grant with their cheeks pressed together, smiling wide for the camera—the ultimate selfie. I could believe that the man that I saw at the drugstore or the supermarket wasn't my husband, but there's no debating who is in this photo. It's Grant.

And that bastard always told me he hated selfies.

Marnie swipes the screen again, and an image appears of Grant holding a toddler. He is very much the proud father, and the little towheaded boy in his arms bears a striking resemblance to my husband.

I don't even understand how it's possible. We ate dinner together at least four or five nights of the week. When he told me he was taking a brief stroll around the neighborhood after dinner, was he actually going out to have dinner with an entirely different family?

But just because the photo appears real, that doesn't mean it is. This could all be an elaborate lie. Photoshop does incredible things these days.

"You still don't believe me," she says.

"It's a bit hard to wrap my head around," I admit.

She plucks her phone out of my hands and drops it into her purse. I can't help but notice that while my purse is a Gucci original, hers is made of cloth and looks like it might have been constructed by the toddler in the photograph.

"Would you like to meet the kids?" she asks.

My gut is telling me not to get in a car with this woman. It's possible she's telling the truth, but it's also possible she is entirely unhinged. What if the second we're alone, she takes me hostage?

As if reading my mind, she adds, "We can take separate cars. I'll give you my address."

I don't know what to do. This could be a trap, but at the same time, Marnie doesn't seem dangerous. Her grief appears genuine. "I don't know…"

She scribbles her address on a scrap of paper from her purse and hands it over to me. "Please come, Alice. If you loved Grant, I hope you wouldn't want his offspring to go hungry."

She watches my face, waiting for an answer. When it comes down to it, she is absolutely right. "No," I say, "I wouldn't."

"Thank you," she says. "I know you'll do the right thing."

With those words, she shows herself out.