“Is Daddy inside the computer?”
My throat tightened.
“No, baby. Mommy’s looking for something.”
One name appeared again and again.
**Ethan C.**
There were legal payments.
Childcare expenses.
And a folder labeled:
**ETHAN TRUST**
I stared at it.
“You made a trust for him?”
Lucy looked toward me.
“Are you mad at Daddy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because he should have told me something.”
“Can you ask him?”
My hand froze over the mouse.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Oh.”
Then I found insurance documents.
Jack had carefully protected money for Lucy.
For our unborn baby.
For me.
And separately, there were funds tied to Ethan.
Then I found maps.
The same address appeared repeatedly.
Forty minutes away.
I called Mara.
“I found the money.”
Silence.
“Claire…”
“I’m going to that address.”
“Please don’t arrive angry.”
“So he is Jack’s son.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Whatever you think Jack did, do not punish Ethan for it.”
“I would never hurt a child.”
“I know. That’s why Jack trusted you.”
“Don’t tell me what my husband thought.”
“Then go.”
She paused.
“But go looking for the truth. Not revenge.”
I drove there convinced I was about to meet proof that my marriage had been a lie.
Instead, what waited at that address destroyed my entire theory.
The house belonged to a foster family.
A woman opened the door.
“I’m Denise.”
“Claire.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“Jack’s wife.”
“You knew him?”
“He came to see Ethan.”
My knees nearly gave way.
“Can I see him?”
Denise studied my face.
Then stepped aside.
“Come in.”
A little boy sat on the floor building a wooden train track.
He looked up.
Dark eyes.
A stubborn cowlick.
I grabbed the back of a chair.
“Oh my God.”
Denise stepped toward me.
“Are you all right?”
“He looks like Jack.”
She glanced toward Ethan but didn’t answer.
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose a little.”
A little?
To me, the resemblance was overwhelming.
This had to be Jack’s son.
I became so convinced that I stopped considering any other explanation.
Denise gently said,
“Ethan, this is Claire.”
His face brightened.
“I know.”
I stared.
“You know me?”
“Jack showed me your picture.”
“He did?”
“And Lucy’s.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That Lucy likes dinosaurs.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“She does.”
“And you make pancakes on Sundays.”
My smile disappeared.
Jack had talked about us here.
“How often did he come?”
Denise hesitated.
“Several times.”
“Alone?”
“Not always.”
“Who came with him?”
“An older woman. Mrs. Bennett.”
The name stood out immediately.
“What did she tell you about Ethan?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“This is a foster home, Claire. We’re given enough information to care for the children. We don’t receive every detail about their biological relatives.”
“But you knew Jack.”
“I knew he cared deeply about Ethan.”
“As his father?”
Denise’s expression tightened.
“I honestly don’t know.”
I stared at Ethan.
I had believed I was inches away from the truth.
I was wrong again.
I pulled out my phone.
“She knows.”
Denise frowned.
“Who?”
“Mrs. Bennett.”
I found the number in Jack’s documents.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Claire. I’m Jack’s wife.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
That single word told me she knew exactly who I was.
“Jack contacted you last year.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know why.”
Two hours later, I was sitting across from an eighty-one-year-old woman.
Mrs. Bennett placed an old photograph on the table between us.
Two boys stood side by side.
“Which one is Jack?”
She touched the taller boy.
“And the other?”
“Daniel.”
“Who is Daniel?”
She looked at me.
“Jack’s brother.”
I actually laughed.
“Jack didn’t have a brother.”
“Yes, he did.”
“No. Jack grew up believing he had no family.”
“Because he didn’t know.”
I looked again at the photograph.
“How is that possible?”
“Their parents died in an accident. Both boys entered care.”
She paused.
“They were separated into different placements. Records were mishandled. Eventually they lost track of one another.”
My stomach twisted.
“And Jack only discovered Daniel last year?”
“Yes.”
“Did he find him?”
Mrs. Bennett looked down.
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
“Daniel had already died.”
I immediately thought of the little boy on Denise’s floor.
