Chapter 6: The Truth About Marcus
Neither of us touched the phone.
The screen remained between us.
A document.
A name.
A test.
A truth waiting to destroy something.
Marcus looked at me.
“Mom…”
I couldn’t speak.
Because I already understood what Claire was trying to do.
She wasn’t just trying to take the company.
She was trying to destroy the foundation of our family.
“What is this?”” Marcus whispered.
I looked at him.
“I don’t know.””
But that wasn’t completely true.
A terrible feeling had already begun forming in my chest.
Because there was one secret David carried to his grave.
One conversation I had never told Marcus about.
One night that changed everything.
Twelve years earlier, three days before David died, he came home late.
That was unusual.
David was always predictable.
Always home by seven.
Always kissed my forehead before dinner.
But that night, he walked through the door looking exhausted.
“Evelyn?””
I knew something was wrong.
“What happened?””
He sat at the kitchen table.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then:
“Marcus came to see me today.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
David looked down.
“He asked me something.””
“What?””
“He asked if he was really my son.””
The room spun.
“What?””
David immediately reached for my hand.
“No, no. Not like that.””
I waited.
“He’s been feeling lost since I got sick.””
David had been dealing with heart problems for months.
“He said he doesn’t feel like he belongs anywhere.””
My eyes filled.
“My poor boy.””
David nodded.
“I know.””
“Why would he ask that?””
David looked toward the window.
“Because someone planted the idea.””
My stomach tightened.
“Who?””
He didn’t answer.
Not then.
Not ever.
Because before he could tell me, he collapsed.
And three days later, he was gone.
“Mom?””
Marcus’s voice pulled me back.
He was staring at me.
“You know something.””
I looked at the document.
“I know your father loved you.””
“That’s not what I asked.””
His voice cracked.
“Am I his son?””
The question broke something inside me.
Not because I didn’t know the answer.
Because I hated that someone made him ask it.
“Yes.””
I answered immediately.
“You are David’s son.””
He searched my face.
“Then why does Claire have this?””
I didn’t know.
And that scared me.
We opened the document.
The report was dated three weeks earlier.
Three weeks.
Before the wedding.
Before Marcus rejected me.
Before everything collapsed.
I read the names.
Marcus Carter.
David Carter.
My hands started shaking.
“This is fake.””
Marcus looked at me.
“How do you know?””
“Because your father never questioned you.””
“That’s not proof.””
“No.””
I looked at him.
“But I know your father.””
A knock interrupted us.
We both froze.
The front door.
Again.
Marcus moved first.
“Stay here.””
I almost smiled.
The protective instinct.
The little boy returning.
He opened the door.
And standing outside was Richard.
Older.
Gray hair.
But the same cold eyes.
“Hello, Marcus.””
My son stepped back.
“What are you doing here?””
Richard smiled.
“I came to talk.””
“About what?””
Richard looked past him.
At me.
“About the truth.””
I stood.
“Richard.””
He nodded.
“Evelyn.””
The hatred between us filled the room.
“You’ve caused enough damage.””
Richard laughed softly.
“Have I?””
“You broke into my house.””
“I needed something.””
“You stole David’s letter.””
His smile faded slightly.
“So you found out.””
Marcus looked between us.
“Wait.””
His voice rose.
“You knew about the letter?””
Richard ignored him.
“I told Claire the truth would eventually come out.””
I stepped forward.
“What truth?””
Richard looked directly at Marcus.
“The truth your mother has hidden from you your entire life.””
Marcus froze.
“Stop.””
Richard continued.
“You’re right to question everything.””
“Richard.””
“No, Evelyn. After all these years, he deserves to know.””
Marcus’s face turned pale.
“Know what?””
Richard reached into his coat.
He pulled out an envelope.
Not the missing one.
Another.
One I had never seen before.
“I found this with David’s things.””
My heart stopped.
Richard handed it to Marcus.
The handwriting on the front was David’s.
Marcus looked at the envelope.
Then at me.
“Mom?””
I couldn’t move.
Because I knew that handwriting.
And I knew exactly what it meant.
The letter was addressed:
*To Marcus.*
May you like
And underneath, David had written one sentence.
*The truth about your mother begins here.*
