Chapter 3

GRACE'S POV:

I didn't reply to Madison's text. Her taunts were cheap. I needed to see it for myself.

The next morning, I drove into the neighboring town. I found the maid, Maria, who Madison had mentioned worked for her. It didn't take a "hefty sum of cash," just the sight of the desperation in my eyes and a few crisp hundred-dollar bills.

"That woman?" Maria had sneered, her eyes dark. "She treats us like dirt. For what you're offering, I'd help you burn the place down."

It turned out the ranch was short-staffed for the anniversary party, in need of temporary cleaners.

I changed into a plain dress, wrapped my hair in a scarf, and hid my face behind a mask and sunglasses. I slipped in with the rest of the day's help, unnoticed.

The moment I stepped inside the opulent ranch house, my heart seized. Hanging above the grand stone fireplace was an enormous family portrait.

My grandmother, Loretta, sat in a plush armchair in the center, a beaming Wyatt on her lap. Caleb and Madison stood behind her, one on each side, their faces alight with the kind of happiness I had only ever dreamed of.

"New girl, keep up," Maria muttered, guiding me through the house. She pointed to a glass case filled with trophies. "See that silver belt buckle? The old lady designed it herself when little Wyatt was born. One of a kind."

My head spun. I remembered when I was first welcomed into the Blackwood family, how I'd timidly asked my grandmother for a small family heirloom, even just a cufflink, as a keepsake.

She'd looked at me with cold eyes and said, "Everything was lost in a fire years ago."

It wasn't lost. I just wasn't worthy.

"And this," Maria said, picking up an ornate saddle blanket from a nearby chair. "She stitched this for Wyatt's pony herself. Every single stitch. Never seen her dote on anyone like that. Guess some grandkids are more important than others."

Maria's words were casual, but they flayed me open.

My next task was to dust the dozens of picture frames lining the long hallway. Each one held a memory, a moment stolen from my life. Caleb at the hospital with a newborn Wyatt. Caleb teaching him to fish. Caleb pushing him on a swing. He had never missed a single milestone in their lives.

All his excuses-the "business trips," the "pasture inspections," the "meetings with important clients"-they all had faces now. They had a home. And it wasn't with me.

As evening approached, before the party guests arrived, the happy family returned. They'd been at the town's Founders Day festival, and Wyatt was clutching a small blue ribbon.

Caleb swung the boy into the air, hoisting him onto his shoulders. Madison laughed, dabbing at their faces with a handkerchief. The scene was so painfully domestic it stole the air from my lungs.

I ducked into a utility closet, peering through the crack in the door. I heard Madison lean against Caleb, her voice a practiced, delicate whine. "Caleb, I just... I don't want Wyatt to have to hide forever. He deserves to have his father, to have everything, out in the open."

Caleb wrapped his arms around her. "I know, baby, I know. Just give me a little more time. I'll handle everything. You just focus on his birthday party in five days. Grandma and I already have our story straight. Grace won't suspect a thing."

My heart, which I thought couldn't break any further, turned to dust.

I slipped out of the closet and headed for the exit, my one thought to escape that suffocating place. But as I passed the stables, I ran right into him. Caleb was heading out to check on the horses.

He stopped short. His sharp eyes narrowed, fixing on me.

"Are you new?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

I kept my head down, my pulse hammering in my throat.

He took a step closer, then another. His scent, the familiar smell of my husband, enveloped me, and I felt like I was choking.

"Look at me," he commanded.

My palms were slick with sweat. He reached out, his fingers about to snatch the scarf from my head, when another voice cut through the tension.