Chapter 7 - LAUREN’S CONDITION
The next morning, Michael slept in the guest room.
I barely slept at all.
At six, Emma crawled into my bed.
She touched my cheek.
“Does it still hurt?”
“A little.”
“Grandma shouldn’t hit people.”
“No.”
“She says people who disrespect family deserve consequences.”
I felt sick.
“Grandma is wrong.”
Emma looked relieved.
Children shouldn’t have to wonder whether violence becomes acceptable when an adult gives it a respectable word.
At eleven thirty, Rachel picked me up.
Michael followed in his car.
Lauren had chosen a small café near the lake.
Public.
Bright.
Safe.
That choice told me more than any document had.
Lauren was already seated when we arrived.
She was forty now.
Dark hair cut to her shoulders.
Simple gray sweater.
No jewelry except a thin silver chain.
When Michael entered, she stopped breathing.
So did he.
Fourteen years disappeared from both their faces.
“Lauren.”
She stood.
“Michael.”
He looked at her as though he wanted to apologize for every day between then and now.
Instead he asked, “Is Noah mine?”
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Michael gripped the back of a chair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pain flashed across her face.
“I tried.”
He looked confused.
Lauren opened her purse.
Then removed a bundle of old envelopes.
Every one was addressed to Michael.
Every one had been returned.
“I wrote for eighteen months.”
Michael picked one up.
The envelope was unopened.
Across the front was a stamped message.
RETURN TO SENDER.
He whispered, “I never saw these.”
“I know that now.”
Lauren looked at me.
“When Rachel contacted me, I thought it was another trap.”
“What trap?” I asked.
Lauren’s hands trembled.
“Diane told me Michael wanted nothing to do with the baby.”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
“She showed me a letter.”
“I never wrote one.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“Now.”
Michael sat down.
Lauren continued.
“She offered me money.”
“What if you refused?” I asked.
Lauren looked toward the window.
“She said she would make sure Michael got full custody after the baby was born.”
Michael stared at her.
“She couldn’t do that.”
“She made me believe she could.”
Lauren’s eyes moved to his.
“Your mother had photographs of me.”
“What photographs?”
“Me leaving a psychiatrist’s office.”
Michael frowned.
Lauren whispered, “I had panic attacks after my father died.”
She looked down.
“Diane said she would use the pictures to prove I was unstable.”
My stomach turned.
Lauren took a breath.
“She also told me something else.”
Michael leaned forward.
“What?”
Lauren’s answer was quiet.
“She said your father was helping her.”
Michael went rigid.
“My dad?”
Lauren nodded.
May you like
“She said Frank knew everything.”
*
