They thought I was weak.
Broken.
Desperate for family.
They had no idea they were walking into their own execution.
The doorbell echoed through the house.
I stood holding Ethan in my arms and looked at the security monitor.
Eleanor smiled warmly into the camera wearing pearls and expensive perfume as if she’d never abandoned me in labor.
Ryan stood behind her impatiently checking his phone.
I unlocked the door calmly.
“Olivia, darling!” Eleanor said sweetly the moment I opened it. “We’re so sorry we haven’t visited sooner. Grief has just overwhelmed us. But I had to come see my grandson.”
I blocked the doorway without moving.
“Which grandson?” I asked softly.
Her smile faltered instantly.
Ryan frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped. “Enough games. We need to discuss the estate accounts.”
Without answering, I stepped aside and opened the door wider.
Inside my dining room sat Mr. Whitmore.
Beside him sat a nervous young woman.
And beside her sat a little boy eating toast.