Chapter 3

Ethan' s pleading turned into frantic, guilt-laced demands. He started to cry, real tears streaming down his face, but his words felt rehearsed.

"What if that was me out there? Wouldn't you want someone to save me? You're a bad mom if you just let her drown!"

The words were a direct hit, designed to trigger a mother's deepest fears and instincts. In my past life, they would have worked. This time, they only sharpened my focus. A nine-year-old boy, even a compassionate one, wouldn't typically resort to such manipulative language. He was echoing someone else's words. Mark's words.

My suspicion hardened into a sickening certainty. They had coached him. They had poisoned my own son against me, turning him into a tool for their scheme. The depth of their depravity was bottomless.

"You're right, Ethan," I said, my voice dangerously soft. His crying hitched, surprised by my sudden agreement. I knelt down to look him in the eye. "It is wrong to just stand by and watch. I'm not as brave as you are. So if you feel so strongly about this, you should go save her."

His face went slack with shock. The tears stopped instantly. "Me?"

"Yes, you," I said, my gaze unwavering. "You're the one who wants to be a hero. Go on. The door is right there. Be the hero I'm not."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with genuine terror now. The churning, violent water outside was no longer a theoretical problem but a very real threat. He was just a child, after all. A child manipulated by his father, but a child nonetheless. He backed away from me, shaking his head.

"I can't... I'm just a kid," he whimpered. "You're the grown-up."

"Exactly," I said, standing up. "And the grown-up has decided it's too dangerous."

His face crumpled again, but this time it was with the frustration of a failed mission. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small cell phone, one Mark had given him "for emergencies." His little thumbs moved frantically across the screen. He was making a call. I didn't have to guess who he was calling. He turned away from me, trying to hide in a corner of the large room, his voice a panicked whisper into the phone.

"Dad? It's not working!" he hissed. "Mom won't go! She said she won't save her!" He paused, listening. Then the most damning words tumbled from his mouth. "I don't know what to do! She won't save... sister."

Sister.

The word hung in the air, a confession spoken in a child's innocent tongue. In my past life, I had never known they were related until my dying day. This time, the truth was out in the first ten minutes.

I walked over and took the phone from his trembling hand. He was too shocked to resist. I put it on speakerphone.

"...Ethan? Ethan, what did you just say? Who is 'sister'?" Mark' s voice was tight with panic. He was trying to sound confused, but I could hear the lie.

"Hello, Mark," I said, my voice as cold as the grave I had just escaped.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a dead silence.

"Sarah? What's going on? I was just talking to Ethan," he stammered, his attempt at nonchalance pathetic. "What's this about someone in the water? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is crystal clear, Mark," I said softly. "Ethan just told me he has a sister drowning in our garden. And you seem to know all about it."

His fumbling excuses, his transparent lies, his feigned ignorance-it was all the proof I needed. It wasn't just him and Lisa. They had drawn my son into their web of deceit. The betrayal was absolute, leaving no part of my life untouched.