Money sent to Sloane’s luxury clothing boutique under fake marketing contracts.
A condominium Grant claimed belonged to Whitmore Development but that had quietly been purchased with marital funds.
And the most satisfying detail?
Grant had signed almost everything himself.
Sloane believed she had invited a humiliated ex-wife to witness her triumph.
What she had actually done was give me a room full of witnesses.
The baby shower was held at Whitmore Ridge Country Club on the first Saturday in May.
Sloane apparently wanted elegance.
She got excess.
Blue hydrangeas covered the entrance.
A champagne wall stood beneath a sign reading:
WELCOME, BABY GRANT JR.
That detail almost made me admire her confidence.
Almost.
Valet attendants lined the circular driveway.
A harpist played beside the staircase.
Guests in linen suits and pastel dresses drifted between floral displays and silver trays of champagne.
I arrived wearing a navy dress, pearl earrings, and the calmest expression I could manage.
In my hands was a
rectangular gift wrapped in pale blue paper.
Inside were no baby clothes.
No toys.
No blankets.
Just paperwork.
Sloane saw me within seconds.
Her face lit up.
Not with happiness.
With victory.
“Rebecca!”
She crossed the room holding her stomach.
Pregnancy suited her.
She looked radiant.
Of course she did.
Sloane had always understood lighting.
She kissed the air near my cheek.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
“You invited me.”
Her smile sharpened.
“I thought maybe this could be healing for you.”
“How thoughtful.”
Grant approached.
He was wearing a cream blazer and loafers without socks.
He had grown a little heavier since our divorce, though his confidence had expanded faster than his waistline.
“Rebecca.”
“Grant.”
His eyes dropped toward my gift.
“You didn’t need to bring anything.”
“I disagree.”
Sloane slipped her arm around his.
“We’ve already received so much,” she said. “Everyone is just thrilled that Grant
is finally getting what he’s always wanted.”
I looked directly at him.
“A biological son?”
Grant’s chest lifted.
“Exactly.”
I nearly smiled.
Across the room, I noticed Elliot.
He was standing beside the bar.
Alone.
Unlike Grant, Elliot had never enjoyed crowds.
When our eyes met, his drink stopped halfway to his mouth.
His face changed.
That was the moment I knew.
He knew about the baby.
Maybe not the test.
But he knew enough to be afraid.
I placed my gift on the table.
