Chapter 3: The Woman in the Doorway
Her name was Paige.
She was younger than me by at least ten years.
She had a canvas tote bag over one shoulder and a coffee cup in her hand, and she walked into my kitchen the way people walk into places they've been before.
Comfortable.
Unhurried.
Like she already knew where the light switches were.
She stopped when she saw me.
The coffee cup lowered.
"Oh," she said.
Kyle stepped around her and headed straight for the refrigerator.
"Didn't know you'd be back so early."
I looked at Eric.
He had gone the color of old ash.
"Who is this?" I asked.
Nobody answered.
That was its own answer.
"Eric." My voice was very level.
"Who is this woman?"
Diane moved first.
She stepped between us with her arms crossed, chin lifted, playing the same role she'd played the night before.
Protector.
Gatekeeper.
The woman who decided what got said in this house.
"This is a private family matter," Diane said.
"This is my house," I said.
"So I'll ask again."
Paige set her coffee cup on my counter.
She looked at Eric with an expression I recognized — not guilt, exactly.
More like impatience.
Like she was waiting for him to handle something he'd already promised to handle.
"You told her?" Paige asked him.
Eric's jaw tightened.
"Not yet."
"Eric." Her voice sharpened.
"You said by last night."
"I know what I said."
I watched the two of them have an entire conversation without looking at me once.
The folder with the trust documents was still on the counter.
Eric hadn't put it down.
He was still holding the first page.
"Tell me what?" I asked.
The kitchen went quiet.
Diane turned toward the window.
Kyle closed the refrigerator without taking anything out.
Eric finally looked at me.
"Paige and I have been together for eight months," he said.
"I was going to tell you.
I just — I needed the living situation settled first."
The words landed in a specific order.
Together.
Eight months.
Living situation.
"You moved your mother and your nephew into my house," I said slowly, "so that you could ask me to leave.
And move her in."
He didn't deny it.
"That was the plan," Diane said from the window.
Her voice was almost bored.
"You were never right for him.
We all knew it.
It was only a matter of time."
I looked at the folder in Eric's hand.
Then at Paige.
Then at Diane.
"How long have you known?" I asked Diane.
She turned from the window.
"Known what?"
"About Paige."
A small smile.
"Long enough."
"And you helped him plan this."
"I helped my son."
I nodded once.
I picked up my phone from the counter and typed a short message to my attorney.
Three sentences.
Send.
"What are you doing?" Eric asked.
"Letting my lawyer know the timeline," I said.
"Eight months is useful information."
Paige's eyes moved to the folder.
"What is that?"
"The deed to this house," I said.
"Which is held in a trust.
My name only.
Which means the plan you've all been working on for eight months has one significant problem."
Paige looked at Eric.
"You said the house was joint property."
Eric said nothing.
"You told me it was joint property." Her voice had changed.
The impatience was gone.
Something harder had replaced it.
"Eric.
You told me we could be here by the end of the month."
"I thought it was," he said.
"I didn't know she'd—"
"You didn't know?" I said.
"You've been planning to push me out of my own home for eight months and you didn't know whose name was on the deed?"
Kyle laughed from the corner.
Nobody else did.
My phone buzzed.
My attorney, already responding.
I read the message, typed back, and set the phone face-down on the counter.
"I want everyone out of this house by five o'clock today," I said.
Diane turned from the window.
"You can't—"
"I can," I said.
"Read the folder."
"This isn't over," Eric said quietly.
I looked at him for the last time that morning.
"No," I said.
"It isn't.
Not even close."
I picked up my handbag, walked to my home office, and closed the door behind me.
Through the wall, I heard Paige's voice, low and furious: "You told me this was handled."
And Eric's reply, quieter still: "I didn't know about the account."
I sat down at my desk.
The account.
He'd said it without thinking.
Which meant he knew about the joint account investigation.
May you like
Which meant he hadn't just been hiding Paige from me.
He'd been hiding something else entirely.
