Chapter 3: Ask Her About the Apartment
I slid the phone into my pocket and looked at Rebecca.
"Who has a key to an apartment registered in your name?"
The color didn't drain from her face.
It shifted — a controlled, practiced stillness that I had never noticed before.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The apartment." I kept my voice low.
Emily was still against my shoulder, her face turned away from Rebecca.
"Whose name is on the paperwork?"
"This is not the time—"
"It's exactly the time."
Rebecca glanced back at the guests.
Her mother had sat down again, but her hands were pressed flat against her thighs.
The priest was pretending to study his book.
"Darling." Rebecca's voice dropped to something smooth and careful.
"Someone is trying to ruin today.
That message was sent by a person who wants to destroy what we have.
Don't let them win."
"Who sent it?"
"I don't know."
"But you knew what it said before I read it."
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Emily shifted against me.
"Daddy, can we go?"
"In a minute, sweetheart."
I set Emily down gently and crouched to her level.
"Go find Aunt Carol.
Stay with her.
I'll come get you in five minutes."
Emily looked at Rebecca once — a long, flat look that no seven-year-old should know how to give — then walked toward the side door.
I stood up.
"The apartment," I said again.
"Tell me now, or I walk out of this chapel and you explain to two hundred people why the wedding isn't happening."
Something moved behind Rebecca's eyes.
Not fear exactly.
Calculation.
"It's an investment property," she said.
"I bought it before we met.
I never mentioned it because it wasn't relevant."
"And the school you enrolled Emily in without telling me — was that not relevant either?"
"I was going to tell you after—"
"After the vows."
She didn't answer.
"After I couldn't take them back," I said.
Rebecca's chin lifted slightly.
"You're making a scene over a note written to a child who misunderstood the situation.
Emily is sensitive.
She hears things the wrong way.
You know that."
"She handed me a note in your handwriting that told her she would be sent away."
"I was trying to prepare her.
Children need preparation for change."
"What change?"
Silence.
"Rebecca.
What change?"
Her mother appeared at her elbow.
I hadn't heard her approach.
She placed one hand on Rebecca's arm and looked at me with an expression that was almost apologetic — almost, but not quite.
"Nathan," she said quietly, "perhaps this conversation belongs somewhere private."
"I agree," I said.
"So does the answer."
Rebecca looked at her mother.
Something passed between them — a glance so brief and loaded that it confirmed everything the message had implied.
They had planned this together.
My phone buzzed again.
The same unknown number.
*The apartment isn't empty.
May you like
It hasn't been empty for six months.
Check the lease.*
