Chapter 5: What Diane Called to Say
Marcus looked at the phone.
Then at me.
"Answer it," I said.
He did.
He put it on speaker and set it on the table between us.
"Marcus." Diane's voice was composed.
Almost pleasant.
"I hope you've had time to think about yesterday."
"We're both here, Diane," I said.
A pause.
Short, but I caught it.
"Claire." Her tone didn't change.
"I suppose Ruth came to see you."
"She did."
"Ruth has always had a gift for drama.
Whatever she showed you, I'd take it with some skepticism."
"She showed me your emails to Carol," I said.
"And your letter to the solicitor.
And your text messages to Marcus from January."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Those were private communications."
"They were about my son."
"They were about the family's concerns regarding—"
"Diane." My voice came out steadier than I expected.
"You told twelve people that Evan isn't Marcus's child.
You contacted a lawyer to contest our home.
And yesterday you sl\*pped a four-year-old boy across the face because he reached for a piece of chicken."
"He was taking food from my table without asking.
I simply—"
"He's four," I said.
"He was hungry.
And he is Marcus's son."
"So you say."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"Mom.
Stop."
"Marcus, I'm only trying to protect the family's—"
"Stop." His voice was quiet but it cut through.
"Evan is my son.
I have known that since the day he was born.
I am telling you directly, for the second time, that what you have been saying is false.
And it ends today."
Diane was silent.
"I want you to contact every person you sent those emails to," Marcus said.
"Carol, the cousins, Aunt Patricia, all of them.
I want you to tell them that what you said was wrong."
"I will not be humiliated in front of the entire family."
"You humiliated yourself," I said.
"We're asking you to correct it."
"This is your doing." Her voice shifted.
The pleasantness dropped away entirely.
"You turned my son against me.
You came into this family with nothing, and you have spent seven years pulling him further and further away from us.
And now you want me to apologize?
To you?"
"To Evan," I said.
"He's four years old and he asked me last night why his grandmother doesn't like him.
That's who you owe an apology to."
The line went quiet.
When Diane spoke again, her voice had changed again.
Lower.
More careful.
"I think we should discuss the house," she said.
Marcus frowned.
"What about it?"
"Your father intended that property to benefit the whole family.
Not just you.
I have documentation showing that his original will was altered in the final weeks before he passed.
I've been advised that there may be grounds to revisit the distribution."
Marcus went very still.
"Are you threatening us?" he said.
"I'm informing you," Diane said.
"As your mother.
Because I would rather resolve this privately than involve the courts."
I looked at Marcus.
He looked at me.
"Get a lawyer," I said quietly.
Just to him.
He nodded once.
"Diane," he said into the phone.
"This conversation is over.
Don't contact us again until you've spoken to every person you misled about Evan.
And if you've actually filed anything with a solicitor regarding my father's estate, you'll be hearing from my attorney."
He ended the call.
The kitchen was silent.
Then from upstairs, we heard Evan's feet hit the floor.
The sound of him padding toward the stairs.
His voice, still rough with sleep.
"Dad?
Is breakfast ready?"
Marcus looked at the ceiling.
Something moved across his face that I hadn't seen in a long time.
"Yeah, buddy," he called back.
"Come on down."
But that afternoon, an envelope arrived in the post.
May you like
No return address.
Inside was a single photograph.
