Chapter 2

The next morning, Michael’s mother, Susan, arrived unannounced. She owned “Susan’s Sweets,” the most popular bakery in town. Her apron was still dusted with flour. “Michael told me,” she said, her eyes fixed on the baby sleeping in the bassinet I’d set up in the living room. “A miracle.” Her tone was skeptical. Susan had never been my biggest fan. “He was abandoned,” I said. “And Michael just… found him?” She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “At a gas station,” I replied, keeping my voice even. Susan sighed, a puff of air that smelled faintly of cinnamon. “Well, at least there’s a child in this house now. It’s about time.” She’d made her desire for grandchildren clear for years. Blamed me, subtly at first, then more openly. Michael always let her. He’d pat my hand and say, “We’re trying, Mom.” A lie. He was the reason, not me. A vasectomy he’d gotten before we even met, a secret he thought he’d kept. “He needs a name,” Susan said, peering closer at Ethan. We’d settled on Ethan last night. Michael suggested it. Said it sounded strong. “Ethan,” I confirmed. “Ethan Miller,” she mused. “Has a good ring to it.” She stayed for an hour, offering unsolicited advice on feeding schedules and diaper brands. She implied, more than once, that Michael’s “kindness” in taking in a stray was a testament to his good character, a character I should strive to appreciate more. I nodded and smiled. When she left, I focused on Ethan. I bought the best formula, the softest clothes, the most educational toys. I read to him, sang to him, held him for hours. The pediatrician said he was thriving. Michael watched me, a satisfied look on his face. “You’re a natural, Sarah,” he’d say. “Better than I ever imagined.” He thought I was simply a doting, slightly naive wife, grateful for this unexpected chance at motherhood. He had no idea the hours I spent online after Ethan was asleep, researching. No idea about the discreet inquiries Mr. Henderson, my “plumber,” was making. The preliminary report from Henderson mentioned a woman named Jessica. A cocktail waitress in Vegas. Around Michael’s age. The pieces were starting to connect. Slowly. I was patient. I had to be. This wasn’t just about Michael’s lies anymore. It was about Ethan. And it was about me.