Chapter 2: The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For several seconds, the room became completely silent.
I couldn't hear the traffic outside, the wedding coordinator calling through the hallway, or even the faint music playing downstairs.
All I could hear was my own heartbeat.
The woman in the photograph had long brown hair, a narrow face, and a small crescent-shaped scar near her chin.
I had seen that scar before.
In an old family photograph Marcus had shown me during our first Christmas together.
"That's my sister, Claire," he had told me then.
"She passed away when I was twenty-two.""
He had said it so quietly that I hadn't asked many questions.
I'd simply held his hand.
Now I was looking at a woman who appeared to be very much alive.
"Marcus," I said.
He didn't answer.
"Is that Claire?""
His eyes moved to the photograph.
Then he looked away.
"Put your phone down.""
"Is that your sister?""
"Nia, you're not thinking clearly.""
I laughed once.
It sounded nothing like me.
"That's funny. Because I think I've never been clearer.""
My mother stepped closer.
"Nia, who is Claire?""
"His sister. The one he told me died.""
Evelyn looked from me to Marcus.
"What?""
Marcus dragged a hand across his face.
"Claire isn't dead.""
The words landed harder than I expected.
My mother sat down on the edge of the sofa.
I gripped the phone so tightly my fingers hurt.
"You told me she died.""
"I told you she was gone.""
"You showed me a funeral photograph.""
"Because there was a funeral.""
"Whose funeral?""
He didn't answer.
I stepped toward him.
"Whose funeral, Marcus?""
His jaw tightened.
"My family has complicated history.""
"That's not an answer.""
He glanced at Vanessa.
She was standing beside the door, clutching her handbag.
"Can we discuss this privately?"" he asked.
"No. We've already spent two years pretending everything is perfect in private.""
My mother spoke quietly.
"Marcus, I think you should tell her the truth.""
He turned sharply.
"Evelyn, this doesn't concern you.""
"Your future wife is standing in front of you.""
"Exactly. My future wife.""
I looked down at the ring on the vanity.
"Not anymore.""
His expression hardened.
Before he could respond, someone knocked.
Three quick knocks.
Then the door opened.
Patricia Hale walked in.
She wore an ivory silk dress, diamond earrings, and a perfectly arranged blonde bob. The emerald bracelet glittered on her wrist.
She looked at my mother first.
Her eyes paused on the uneven hair.
Then she looked at me.
"Darling, what is going on? The wedding coordinator says you've stopped everything.""
I held up my phone.
"Hello, Patricia.""
Her eyes moved to the photograph.
For the first time, her polished expression cracked.
Only slightly.
But enough.
"Where did you get that?""
I almost smiled.
Apparently, the people in Marcus's family shared the same first question.
"Good morning to you too.""
Patricia closed the door behind her.
"Marcus, I thought we agreed to handle this.""
I turned toward him.
"You agreed to handle what?""
He didn't respond.
Patricia sighed.
"Nia, sweetheart, I know this looks terrible.""
"Then explain it.""
"You're upset. I understand. But weddings are emotional, and people sometimes misunderstand things.""
"Is Claire alive?""
Patricia's face changed.
She looked at Marcus.
He looked at the floor.
That was answer enough.
"Yes," she finally said.
My knees felt weak.
"Why did you tell everyone she was dead?""
Patricia placed her handbag on the vanity as if we were discussing the weather.
"Claire made some unfortunate decisions. She needed to stay away from the family for a while.""
"For a while? You held a funeral.""
"That was a private family matter.""
"A funeral isn't a private family matter when you invite people to attend it.""
Marcus stepped between us.
"Nia, enough.""
I stared at him.
"Did you know she was alive when you proposed to me?""
He hesitated.
That hesitation was worse than a confession.
"Yes," he said.
My mother covered her mouth.
I felt something inside me break.
Four years.
Four years of conversations, holidays, promises, and nights when he'd held me and told me I was the only person he trusted.
He had built our relationship on a lie so large that it required an entire family to protect it.
"Why?"" I asked.
Patricia answered before he could.
"Because Claire has a habit of destroying things.""
I looked at her.
"Then why were you holding her hand outside a hotel room last night?""
Patricia's eyes narrowed.
"Who sent you those photographs?""
"Someone who seems to know your family better than I do.""
"Give me the phone.""
"No.""
Her voice became sharper.
"Nia, I am trying to protect you.""
I couldn't help laughing.
"Is that what you call it?""
My mother stood.
"Patricia, perhaps you should leave.""
Patricia turned toward her.
"This is between the families.""
Evelyn's voice remained calm.
"No. It became my business when your stylist attacked me in this room.""
Patricia glanced at Vanessa.
"Vanessa?""
The stylist shifted uneasily.
"She moved during the cut.""
My mother stared at her.
"I told you to stop.""
Patricia sighed.
"Well, perhaps everyone should have remained calm.""
That was when I noticed something.
Patricia wasn't surprised by Vanessa's presence.
She wasn't asking why my mother's hair had been destroyed.
She was looking at the scissors on the vanity.
Then at Vanessa's handbag.
Then at Marcus.
It was the same silent communication I'd noticed earlier.
They had discussed this before.
I turned toward Vanessa.
"How much did they pay you?""
She stiffened.
"Excuse me?""
"How much did they pay you to cut my mother's hair?""
"Nobody paid me to do anything.""
I picked up the phone.
"Then perhaps you won't mind if I ask the person who sent these pictures.""
Vanessa's face went pale.
Patricia stepped forward.
"Don't.""
It was the first time she'd sounded genuinely afraid.
I looked at her.
"Why?""
She pressed her lips together.
Marcus moved closer.
"Nia, give me the phone. Please.""
His voice had changed.
No anger now.
No irritation.
Just desperation.
I wanted to believe there was still something human underneath all his lies.
But then he said something that destroyed even that possibility.
"If you show those pictures to anyone, you're going to ruin everything we've worked for.""
I looked at my mother.
Then at Patricia.
Finally, I looked at the man I was supposed to marry.
"Everything you've worked for," I repeated.
Marcus swallowed.
"Our future.""
"No, Marcus. You mean your plan.""
Patricia reached for my arm.
"Listen to me. You don't understand what Claire has done.""
I pulled away.
"Then tell me.""
She looked toward the door.
For a moment, I thought she might finally speak.
Instead, she said, "Some people don't deserve a second chance.""
A voice came from behind her.
"That's interesting, Mom.""
Everyone turned.
A woman stood in the doorway.
Long brown hair.
A narrow face.
A small crescent-shaped scar near her chin.
Claire Hale.
Alive.
She carried a black leather folder under one arm.
And in her other hand was a photograph of Marcus and Vanessa together.
Patricia's face drained of color.
"Claire," she whispered.
Claire smiled without warmth.
"Hello, Mother.""
Marcus took a step backward.
"You're not supposed to be here.""
Claire looked at him.
"Neither was I supposed to be dead.""
Then she turned to me.
"Nia, before you marry my brother, there's something you need to know.""
She opened the folder.
"The woman in that photograph isn't the only person he's been sleeping with.""
My stomach dropped.
Claire placed three printed photographs on the vanity.
Marcus.
Vanessa.
Patricia.
And beside them, a fourth photograph showed me standing outside a bank several months earlier.
I looked up.
"Why do you have pictures of me?""
Claire's expression softened.
"Because, Nia, they weren't just planning to betray you.""
May you like
She glanced at her mother.
"They were planning to make sure you couldn't leave.""
