Chapter 5 - The Friend Who Sold Her
Melissa Grant arrived at family court wearing Anna's coat.
Not literally.
But close enough.
The cream-colored wool coat had belonged to Anna before Eric threw it away during an argument.
Melissa wore the same perfume.
She carried the handbag Eric had once given Anna for their anniversary.
Anna stared across the courthouse corridor.
“He's sleeping with her.”
Claire looked at her.
“You don't know that.”
“I know him.”
Melissa noticed us.
For one second, guilt crossed her face.
Then she looked away.
The emergency hearing began at ten.
Eric's attorney painted him as a concerned father.
Anna became unstable, financially irresponsible and impulsive.
The fact that she had hidden the twins in a hotel suite became evidence against her.
Then Melissa testified.
She claimed Anna had lost her temper with Samuel.
Anna's hands trembled beneath the table.
Claire whispered, “Don't react.”
During cross-examination, Claire asked one question.
“When did Mr. Silva first contact you about testifying?”
“Tuesday.”
“Interesting.”
Claire displayed phone records.
“You spoke to him seventeen times in the month before Tuesday.”
Melissa froze.
Eric's attorney objected.
The judge allowed the question.
Melissa's story began unraveling.
By noon, Claire had exposed enough inconsistencies that the judge refused Eric's request for immediate custody.
Anna retained temporary custody.
But the final hearing would come later.
Outside court, Anna leaned against the stone wall and cried.
Not loudly.
That somehow made it worse.
I stood several feet away until she looked at me.
“I believed her.”
“Melissa?”
“She was the first person I told about the abuse.”
Anna wiped her cheeks.
“She held me while I cried.”
There was nothing intelligent to say.
So I didn't say anything.
I simply held out my hand.
Anna looked at it.
Then took it.
We stood there without speaking.
That night, Richard called an emergency shareholder meeting.
He had enough votes to suspend me temporarily if the scandal continued damaging the company.
“You should let them,” Anna said.
We were sitting in the apartment after the twins fell asleep.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard wants something.”
“You think everything is a business strategy.”
“Usually because it is.”
She studied me.
“You really hate losing.”
“I hate letting bad people believe they're winning.”
Anna smiled faintly.
Then her expression softened.
“Why are you doing all this?”
There it was.
The question neither of us had asked.
I could have said because it was right.
Because she worked for me.
Because children deserved protection.
All true.
None complete.
“I don't know anymore.”
Anna looked down.
“That's a dangerous answer.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between us.
I reached toward her.
Slowly.
Giving her time to move.
She didn't.
My fingers touched a loose strand of blonde hair near her cheek.
Anna closed her eyes.
Then Samuel screamed from the bedroom.
We separated instantly.
Anna ran.
Samuel was standing beside the open window.
The curtain moved in the cold night air.
I knew immediately something was wrong.
The window had been locked.
On the floor lay a black envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Sophia and Samuel leaving daycare.
Taken that afternoon.
On the back were four words.
Next time, no warning.
Anna collapsed against me.
This time I didn't hesitate.
I wrapped both arms around her.
“We're leaving.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere nobody knows about.”
Within thirty minutes, we were in my car.
Daniel drove.
Security followed.
I took Anna and the twins to the only place I had never mentioned publicly.
My mother's house in Connecticut.
I had kept it after she died.
Nobody used it.
Nobody except me knew I still owned it.
Sophia slept against Anna.
Samuel slept against me.
When we arrived, Anna stood on the porch looking at the modest blue house.
“This is yours?”
“My mother's.”
Inside, photographs remained exactly where Elena had placed them.
Anna stopped before one.
My mother was wearing a Wellington housekeeping uniform.
Beside her stood another young woman.
Anna picked up the frame.
“Adrian.”
I turned.
She was staring at the second woman.
“What?”
“I know her.”
My heart stopped.
“How?”
Anna's finger trembled against the glass.
“That was my mother.”
The photograph nearly slipped from my hand.
Anna had spent most of her childhood believing her mother abandoned her.
I had spent most of mine believing my mother was fired for theft.
But here they were.
Together.
Smiling.
And written across the back in my mother's handwriting were seven words:
May you like
Elena and Rosa — we tell tomorrow.
They had never gotten tomorrow.
