Chapter 3: The Funeral That Never Happened
“Get her out of here!””
Simone's voice tore through the corridor.
“Darius, she's a liar! She's been stalking us for years!””
Lillian didn't move.
She simply stood beneath the weak yellow light, looking at my wife with the exhausted patience of someone who had spent years waiting for a lie to collapse.
I held Ava tighter.
“Simone,” I said, “explain what she means.””
My wife turned toward me, tears streaking her makeup.
“She's mentally unstable. She was involved in Renee's death, and she disappeared afterward. She has been obsessed with our family ever since.””
Lillian's face hardened.
“That's convenient.””
“Shut up!””
“Tell him why you kept me in this room.””
Simone lunged again, but Leon blocked her path.
“Ma'am, I need you to calm down.””
“Do you know who I am?”” Simone shouted.
“My husband owns half the buildings in this city. You'll lose your job before sunrise if you touch me!””
Leon didn't release her.
“Then I suppose I'll have to update my résumé.””
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I felt as though I were watching my marriage burn from the inside out.
I turned toward Lillian.
“You said I attended Renee's funeral. I know that. I was there.””
Lillian nodded.
“Yes.””
“Then what are you talking about?””
She looked down at Ava.
“Your sister died, Darius. I never said she didn't.””
“Then why did you say your funeral—”
“Because you were told I died, too.””
The words settled between us.
I searched her face, looking for something that would explain the impossible.
I found the small scar above her eyebrow. I remembered how she'd gotten it at seventeen, falling from a bicycle while racing my sister down our father's driveway.
I remembered the silver cross she always wore.
It hung around her neck now, tucked partly beneath her black blouse.
I remembered her laugh.
The slight tilt of her head when she listened.
The way she rubbed her thumb against her index finger when she was nervous.
It was Lillian.
Not someone who resembled her.
Not a woman who had memorized our family history.
Lillian Brooks was standing in front of me, alive.
“How?”” I whispered.
She drew a shaky breath.
“Not here. Not with Ava listening.””
I glanced at my daughter.
She had gone strangely quiet.
Her eyes were fixed on Lillian's face, and her tiny fingers kept touching the silver clips in her braids.
“Baby,” I said gently, “do you know this woman from somewhere else?””
Ava nodded.
“Her picture is in Mommy's drawer.””
Simone stopped struggling.
I turned to her.
“What picture?””
Ava pointed toward the corridor.
“The lady with the baby.””
My heart began pounding.
“What baby, sweetheart?””
Ava looked confused by the question.
“The little baby in the picture. Miss Lily says he has a blue blanket.””
Lillian closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Simone whispered, “No.””
It was the first time all evening that she had sounded genuinely helpless.
I looked between them.
“What is going on?””
Lillian opened her eyes.
“Darius, I need you to do something for me.””
“What?””
“Take Ava to a safe place. Somewhere Simone cannot reach her.””
I stiffened.
“You don't get to walk into my life after twelve years and tell me my wife is a danger to my child without explaining yourself.””
Lillian nodded as if she'd expected the response.
“You're right.””
She reached slowly into her coat pocket.
Leon immediately shifted his stance.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.””
“I'm not carrying a weapon,” Lillian said.
She withdrew a small photograph and held it out.
I approached cautiously and took it.
The picture was old, its edges worn white. It showed a young woman lying in a hospital bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow. A newborn rested against her chest beneath a blue blanket.
The woman's face was unmistakable.
Lillian.
I looked at the date printed in the corner.
October 14, 2023.
The date Ava was born.
I stared at the photograph.
“That can't be right.””
Lillian's voice trembled.
“It's right.””
I looked at the baby.
A small silver bracelet circled his wrist.
On it were three engraved letters.
C.J.C.
My initials.
My father's initials.
And the initials I'd planned to give my first son, had I ever had one.
I felt suddenly sick.
“Who is this child?””
Lillian looked at Simone.
“Tell him.””
My wife pressed her palms against her temples.
“I don't know what she's talking about.””
Lillian took one step forward.
“You came to the hospital that night. You stood beside my bed. You held my son. You told me you would make sure he had everything he needed.””
Simone shook her head.
“You were sedated.””
“I was awake.””
“You were on medication!””
“I remember your face.””
Lillian's voice rose.
“I remember you telling me Darius would never accept the child because you had already told him you were pregnant. I remember you saying you would raise the baby as your own if I signed the papers.””
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
I looked at Simone.
She couldn't meet my eyes.
“Pregnant?”” I asked.
My voice sounded distant, as if another man were speaking through me.
“Simone, were you pregnant when Ava was born?””
She swallowed.
“Darius, please—”
“Were you?””
Her silence answered before she could.
I looked at Lillian.
“Why would my wife raise your child as her own?””
Lillian's face crumpled.
“Because she believed your family belonged to her.””
I shook my head.
“That makes no sense.””
“Your father left you a trust,” Lillian said.
“You remember that?””
Of course I remembered.
My father had established the Cole Family Trust shortly before his death. It included voting shares in the construction company, several properties, and a substantial inheritance.
The trust had strict succession provisions. My children would receive designated benefits, but control of certain assets depended on legal parentage and other conditions written into the agreement.
I had never liked discussing it.
My father had been wealthy, stubborn, and obsessed with protecting the family business from outsiders.
“What does my father's trust have to do with this?””
Lillian glanced at Simone.
“Everything.””
Simone began crying harder.
“She's twisting things. Darius, please, you know your father hated her. He hated everyone connected to Renee.””
“Don't bring my father into this,” I said.
“He told me you needed a wife who could protect your future!””
Lillian gave a bitter laugh.
“Protect his future? Is that what you called it?””
“Stop!””
Simone's scream echoed down the empty corridor.
For the first time, she looked less like the elegant woman who had stood beside me at charity galas and more like someone trapped by a secret that had finally grown too large to hide.
I turned to her.
“Tell me what happened the night Ava was born.””
She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
“You were in Chicago.””
“I know where I was.””
“The delivery was complicated. Lillian was there because she had no one else. She had been living in a shelter. She was afraid she couldn't care for a baby.””
Lillian's jaw tightened.
“That's not true.””
Simone ignored her.
“I was trying to help.””
“By taking her baby?””
“By protecting him!””
The words burst out of her before she could stop them.
Everyone froze.
Even Simone seemed startled by what she'd said.
I took a slow step toward her.
“Whose baby?””
She stared at me.
“Darius—”
“Whose baby did you take?””
Her mouth trembled.
Lillian answered for her.
“Mine.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The tiny bracelet.
The blue blanket.
The date.
Ava had been born that same night.
My thoughts collided, each one more disturbing than the last.
“Where is the boy now?”” I asked.
Lillian's lips parted.
Before she could answer, Simone spoke.
“He died.””
Lillian went completely still.
I turned toward my wife.
“What?””
“The baby died,” Simone repeated, her voice breaking.
“There were complications. The doctors couldn't save him.””
Lillian stared at her as if she'd just been struck.
“You told me he was alive.””
Simone's eyes widened.
For a moment, nobody breathed.
Then Lillian whispered, “You told me he was alive.””
Simone backed away.
“I never said that.””
“You said you had placed him with a family. You said he was safe. You promised me I could see him when things settled down.””
Her voice broke into a sob.
“You promised me.””
Simone's face crumpled, but she still refused to look at her.
I felt the floor move beneath me.
My wife had been lying about a baby.
My daughter's frightened behavior had a history I didn't understand.
And a woman who had supposedly died twelve years earlier was standing in a locked corridor with a photograph that could unravel my entire life.
I looked at Leon.
“Call the police.””
Simone spun toward me.
“No!””
“Now.””
“You cannot do this to me!””
“Do what? Ask questions?””
“You'll destroy everything!””
I stared at her.
“Everything you've told me is falling apart, and you still think the problem is that I'm asking questions?””
She reached for my hand.
“Darius, I love you.””
I pulled away.
“Then tell me the truth.””
Her shoulders shook.
For a moment, she seemed ready to speak.
Then she looked at Ava.
Something changed in her face.
A cold, deliberate calculation replaced the panic.
“Ask your daughter what Lillian told her,” she said quietly.
I frowned.
“What?””
“Ask her what the woman has been whispering to her when you've been gone. Ask her why she calls this woman Miss Lily. Ask her what she's been taught to say.””
Ava began shaking her head.
“No, Daddy.””
I crouched immediately.
“It's okay, sweetheart.””
Simone continued.
“Ask her why she thinks I locked this door.””
Ava buried her face against my shoulder.
“Mommy said I wasn't supposed to tell.””
I held her close.
“Tell me what, baby?””
Her voice was so faint I barely heard it.
“Miss Lily said there's another baby.””
Lillian covered her mouth.
I looked at her.
“Another baby?””
She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“Yes.””
“Where?””
She stared at Simone.
“In this family.””
My wife's face became expressionless.
Then she reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone.
Leon stepped toward her.
“Ma'am, put the phone down.””
She ignored him.
Her thumb moved rapidly across the screen.
I heard a soft chime from somewhere down the corridor.
A door opened.
Not the one behind us.
Another door.
At the far end of the hallway, a narrow panel swung inward, revealing a small room with a single bed, a children's blanket, and a wooden chair.
A figure stood in the doorway.
Small.
Still.
Watching us.
I couldn't make out the face in the dim light.
Then the child stepped into the corridor.
He looked about four years old.
He wore a navy sweater and gray trousers. His dark hair was neatly combed, and a silver bracelet glinted around his wrist.
He looked at me.
Then at Ava.
Then he turned toward Simone.
“Mommy?”” he asked.
Ava lifted her head.
Her eyes widened.
She reached one tiny hand toward him.
“That's the boy from the picture.””
May you like
The child took another step forward.
And when the light fell across his face, I saw my father's eyes staring back at me.
