Buy the bastards some milk,” my wealthy fiancée laughed, throwing a twenty-dollar bill toward my ex-wife.
“Buy the bastards some milk,” my wealthy fiancée laughed, throwing a twenty-dollar bill toward my ex-wife. I’d divorced her a year earlier after becoming convinced she had been unfaithful. Now she wandered a quiet dirt road collecting empty cans while carrying twin babies against her chest. The second I noticed those babies had my blond hair and my exact eyes, my blood ran cold. My ex met my stare with quiet, heartbreaking pity. I hunted down the private investigator who handled my divorce, and after forcing him to open his secret safe, I uncovered documents that revealed the cruelest betrayal of my entire life…
“Rowan, pull over. Isn’t that your ex-wife?”
I hit the brakes.
Maren stood beside a lonely country road with two sleeping babies strapped against her chest. A sack of collected aluminum cans rested near her feet.
But it wasn’t her worn clothes or exhausted appearance that stole the air from my lungs.
It was the children.
Twins.
Golden curls like my father’s.
Eyes exactly like mine.
Tessa lowered the window and smiled cruelly.
“Looks like life finally gave you what you deserved.”
She tossed twenty dollars into the dirt.
“Buy the children some milk.”
Maren didn’t answer. She looked at the money, then at me with an expression that held no anger and no shame.
She pitied me.
Then she quietly walked away.
A year earlier, I had believed every piece of evidence against her: hotel photographs, money transfers, and records that appeared to prove she had been unfaithful.
Maren had begged me to believe she was being framed.
I trusted the file.
Not my wife.
That night, I confronted the private investigator who had handled our divorce and made him open the biometric safe hidden beneath his floorboards.
Inside was the complete case file.
The first pages proved that every piece of evidence against Maren had been carefully manufactured.
But the final page destroyed me.
It wasn’t a medical record for twins.
Maren had delivered triplets.
Clipped behind the document was one handwritten sentence:
“If Rowan ever discovers the truth, make sure he never learns what happened to the little girl.”
I read the sentence three times.
The two children I had seen were alive.
But where was my third child—my daughter?
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