Chapter 3 - The Little Boy in the Photograph
Grace studied the photograph until the faces blurred.
Andrew looked older than he had two years earlier, but unmistakably comfortable.
Claire wore jeans and a camel-colored coat.
The little boy between them held Andrew’s hand.
Not casually.
Possessively.
Like a child who knew whose hand he was holding.
“How old?” Grace whispered.
Tessa enlarged the image.
“Maybe two?”
The room became too small.
Grace stood abruptly.
“No.”
“Grace.”
“No. We don’t know anything.”
“You’re right.”
“It could be her nephew.”
“Yes.”
“It could be a friend’s child.”
“Yes.”
“It could be anyone.”
Tessa nodded.
But neither woman believed it.
Grace called Francis again.
“Where did you get that photo?”
Francis sounded defeated.
“I took it.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Why were you following my husband?”
“I wasn’t. I had lunch downtown with a client. When I walked out, I saw Andrew across the street.”
“With Claire.”
“Yes.”
“And the boy.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I followed them.”
Grace closed her eyes.
Of course Francis had.
“What did you see?”
“They went into the Grand Laurel.”
Again.
The same hotel.
The symmetry felt obscene.
“I confronted Andrew later,” Francis continued. “He said Claire was married now. He said the boy was her husband’s son.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to.”
Grace laughed bitterly.
“You seem to have done a lot of that.”
“I know.”
“Why send me this now?”
Francis took a long breath.
“Because last night, after you left, Andrew and I fought. I asked why Grace never told me about the miscarriage if she trusted me so little.”
Grace said nothing.
“He said you were ashamed.”
Tessa looked up sharply.
Francis continued, “He said you made him promise not to tell because you believed the miscarriage was your fault. Something about that didn’t feel right. Then when I pushed, he got angry. Very angry.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to stay out of his marriage.”
“That would be funny if it weren’t so late.”
“I deserve that.”
Grace did not respond.
Then Francis said, “I asked him whether Claire’s son was his.”
Grace’s stomach dropped.
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t answer.”
That was enough.
By noon, Grace had moved from grief to action.
Tessa insisted on separating friendship from legal advice.
“If I represent you, I represent you. That means I stop telling you what feels satisfying and start telling you what protects you.”
Grace nodded.
“Do it.”
“First, do not go home alone.”
“Okay.”
“Second, don’t drain accounts, threaten Claire, post anything online, or confront Andrew’s employer.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You’d be amazed what intelligent people do when betrayed.”
Tessa opened her laptop.
“Third, we document everything.”
Grace gave her access to joint statements, mortgage information, investment accounts, insurance policies and tax returns.
At first, nothing looked unusual.
Then Tessa stopped scrolling.
“What is Benton Consulting LLC?”
Grace stared at the screen.
“I have no idea.”
There were recurring transfers.
$2,400.
Every month.
Twenty-two months.
All from an account Grace barely used because Andrew managed most of their household finances.
“Forty-eight thousand dollars,” Tessa said.
Grace’s mouth went dry.
“For what?”
“We’ll find out.”
The company address was a post-office box.
The registered agent?
Claire Benton.
Grace stood very still.
Two years.
Andrew had not simply met Claire once during a crisis.
He had been sending her money almost from the exact month Grace lost the pregnancy.
Andrew arrived at Tessa’s apartment at four.
Grace knew because the building intercom buzzed.
Tessa answered.
“Who is it?”
“Andrew.”
His voice sounded furious.
“I know Grace is there.”
Tessa looked at Grace.
“Do you want to see him?”
Grace considered it.
Then nodded.
“Downstairs.”
They met in the building lobby.
Andrew walked in wearing the navy coat Grace bought him for Christmas.
For a second, familiarity hurt more than betrayal.
He stopped when he saw Tessa.
“This is between my wife and me.”
Tessa responded calmly.
“Your wife asked me to be here.”
Andrew looked at Grace.
“You hired her?”
“I asked for advice.”
His face changed.
“Jesus Christ. So that’s where we are?”
Grace almost smiled.
“You lied to me for two years, but me speaking to an attorney is where we are?”
Andrew rubbed both hands over his face.
“I made mistakes.”
“Is Claire’s son yours?”
He froze.
There it was again.
That fatal silence.
Grace had begun to understand that Andrew’s silences were more truthful than his words.
“Answer me.”
He looked at Tessa.
“Can we have five minutes privately?”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“Is that little boy yours?”
Andrew swallowed.
“No.”
Grace stared directly into his eyes.
“How old is he?”
“What?”
“If he isn’t yours, tell me his age.”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s his name?”
Andrew’s face tightened.
“This is ridiculous.”
Tessa said softly, “That’s interesting.”
He turned on her.
“Stay out of this.”
“Andrew.”
Grace’s voice made him look back.
“What is Benton Consulting?”
All color left his face.
That was the answer.
Grace felt something close inside her.
“Forty-eight thousand dollars,” she continued. “Twenty-two monthly payments. Why?”
Andrew looked around the lobby as though searching for an exit.
Then he whispered, “Because Claire needed help.”
“With what?”
He said nothing.
“With your son?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“Then tell me what to think.”
His eyes filled with tears.
And for one dangerous second, Grace almost felt sorry for him.
Seven years of instinct did not disappear overnight.
Then Andrew said, “His name is Noah.”
Grace’s knees weakened.
Tessa moved closer.
Andrew continued.
“He’s twenty-one months old.”
The math happened instantly.
Twenty-one months.
Grace’s miscarriage had happened twenty-three months earlier.
Grace stared at her husband.
“Is Noah yours?”
May you like
Andrew looked down.
And that was how Grace learned that while she had been mourning the baby she lost, her husband had been preparing for another child to be born.
