“You’re exactly like me,” Gavin said into his hands.
Alyssa laughed through her tears. “No. I learned it from living with you.”
The cruelty of it stunned even her. She tried to take it back. He stood up and walked out, and a bedroom door slammed.
Nina gathered her papers quietly. “I’ll send copies to Mr. Bell.”
When she was gone, Alyssa and I were alone.
“Are you going to throw us out?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“I deserve it.”
“I’m not interested in what you deserve,” I said. “I’m interested in what happens next.”
That evening Claire called.
“You hired an investigator,” I said.
“I did.”
“You could have told me.”
“I could have.”
She sounded so much like me I almost smiled.
Then her voice changed. “Mom. Nina found something else. A property tied to Trent’s company. It’s in Columbus. The owner on the deed is Alyssa.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It was bought three years ago. And Mom? The mortgage is almost paid off.”
Three years. While Alyssa was supposedly broke. While she lived under my roof and told me how much electricity I was using.
Claire flew in on the red-eye from Portland the next morning and came straight from the airport. When she stepped out of the taxi, I almost didn’t recognize her. Not because she’d changed. Because I’d missed her so much more than I’d let myself know.
She hugged me for a long time.
“You look tired,” she said.
“So do you.”
“I took a red-eye. What’s your excuse?”
We drove to the address together. Twenty-seven minutes away. A quiet cul-de-sac. Gray siding, white shutters, two-car garage, a wreath on the door.
We parked across the street. The garage door opened.
Trent came out carrying cardboard boxes to an SUV. Then a woman appeared in the doorway. Not Alyssa. A woman I’d never seen. She kissed him.
“Well,” Claire said slowly.
When we got home, Alyssa was in the kitchen. She took one look at Claire.
“Of course. You went there.”
“Sit down,” I said.
She didn’t. “That house is mine. I bought it with an inheritance from my grandmother.”
Gavin came in. “What house?”
Nobody answered.
“What house, Alyssa?”
“Brenner Court,” she said. “I own it. Three years.”
He laughed. Then he stopped, when nobody laughed with him.
“You told me the inheritance was gone. You told me you put it all into Trent’s company.”
“I didn’t. Not all of it.”
“How much did the house cost?”
“Two hundred and forty thousand.”
He gripped the back of a chair. “We’re a hundred and seventy-four thousand in debt, and you own a nearly paid-off house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her eyes filled. “Because I needed somewhere to go. In case this happened.”
“In case what happened?”
She looked around the kitchen. “This.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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