During my husband’s funeral, an unknown number lit up my phone: “I’m alive. Don’t trust

5

This document named me as the primary beneficiary, the children receiving a more modest portion. Why had Richard hidden this? And why had he left the other version for Natalie to find?

A creak on the floorboards jolted me back to the present. I turned sharply, heart pounding. Andrew stood in the doorway, his face shadowed but eyes bright and watchful.

“Mom?” he asked, his voice low and edged with something I couldn’t quite place. “Andrew,” I replied, trying to mask the tremor in my voice. “I…couldn’t sleep.”

He stepped further into the room, his gaze shifting to the open drawer, then back to me.

For a second, our eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between us. Did he know? “Is everything okay?” he asked, his tone careful.

I nodded, slipping the envelope into my pocket with feigned nonchalance. “Just wanted to feel closer to your father,” I said, hoping the half-truth was enough. He lingered a moment longer, then nodded.

“If you need anything, let me know,” he said quietly before turning and disappearing down the hall. Once the door clicked shut, I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The questions continued to swirl: Who had sent the text?

What had happened to Richard? And most disturbingly, could I trust my own children? I knew I was standing on the precipice of a truth that could alter everything I thought I knew about my family.

But with each passing moment, my resolve hardened. Tomorrow, I would start searching for answers, unraveling the threads of deceit and secrets that Richard had left behind. I had to uncover the truth—no matter where it led.