Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN IN THE BURGUNDY BLOUSE
Margaret attacked me before I understood why.
I had been standing near the sofa in an upscale suburban house, waiting for a man named Richard Hale to return from his home office.
Richard had contacted me three days earlier.
He said he wanted to discuss a property file connected to my late adoptive father.
I almost refused the meeting.
My husband Daniel told me not to go alone.
I told him I could handle a conversation.
That was before Margaret walked into the living room.
She looked at me once.
Then at the envelope in my hand.
Her face changed.
“You.”
I barely had time to ask what she meant before her fist twisted into my hair.
She dragged me sideways.
My handbag fell.
“Stop! Please!”
She slapped me.
Once.
Then again.
I stumbled against the sofa.
“What are you doing?”
“You shameless homewrecker!”
I shielded my face.
“I don’t know you!”
“Don’t lie to me!”
She shoved me against the sofa and slapped me again.
Her eyes were wild.
Not drunk.
Not confused.
Certain.
That was worse.
“What do you think I did?”
“How long have you been sleeping with him, you whore?”
Richard.
She meant Richard.
I understood enough to become terrified.
“No! I’m married!”
She laughed.
“So was he.”
I tried to run toward the front door.
Margaret caught my hair and yanked me backward.
I dropped to one knee.
The door flew open.
Daniel.
He saw Margaret gripping my hair and crossed the room in seconds.
He pulled me free, moved me behind him, and struck Margaret once across the face.
“Don’t touch my wife!”
Margaret staggered.
Then stared at him.
Not recognition.
Shock.
“Who the hell are you?”
Daniel did not answer immediately.
He kept one arm behind him, making sure I stayed protected.
“I’m Emma’s husband.”
Margaret looked at me.
Then him.
Then back at me.
“You’re married?”
“Yes,” I said.
Her face drained.
For one second, I thought reality had finally reached her.
Then Richard entered from the hallway.
He stopped dead.
“Margaret?”
She pointed at me.
“You told me she was your mistress.”
Silence.
Daniel turned toward Richard.
My body went cold.
Richard looked at me.
Then Margaret.
Then at the envelope on the floor.
“I never said that.”
Margaret laughed in disbelief.
“You sent me the pictures.”
“What pictures?”
She pulled out her phone.
Photographs.
Me entering Richard’s office building.
Me sitting across from him at a café.
Me getting into his car.
All from the previous week.
All real.
All innocent.
Daniel looked at Richard.
“You had her followed?”
Richard said nothing.
Margaret opened a message thread.
The sender was saved as Richard.
The texts said:
She makes me feel alive again.
You would hate her if you knew.
Don’t wait up.
Richard stared.
“That isn’t my number.”
Margaret’s hand began shaking.
I should have felt vindicated.
Instead, Daniel turned toward the wall behind her.
Family photographs covered one side of the room.
Weddings.
Birthdays.
Graduations.
One old photograph showed Margaret at maybe nineteen.
Beside her stood an older woman holding a newborn wrapped in a yellow blanket.
Daniel went completely still.
“Emma.”
“What?”
He pointed.
I looked.
My knees weakened.
I had that same photograph.
Not the original.
A cropped copy.
It had been inside the box my adoptive father left me when he died.
The older woman was labeled:
Evelyn.
The baby was labeled:
Emily.
My birth name.
Margaret followed my eyes.
Then whispered:
“No.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
Her face went white.
“That baby died.”
I stared back.
“My adoptive parents told me I was born Emily.”
The room went silent.
May you like
Then Richard closed his eyes.
And I understood from his face that he already knew.
