I drove home in silence. My hands gripped the wheel. The pale line on my ring finger caught the light every time I turned.
The house was quiet when I opened the door. Too quiet. I set my keys on the table and listened. Nothing. No television. No sounds from Ethan's room where he usually played with his trucks.
'Ethan?' I called out.
Footsteps came from the hallway. Small ones. Running.
My heart lifted. I turned toward the sound with my arms already opening.
Ethan ran into the room. He was wearing the sneakers I bought him last week. The blue ones with the lights in the heels. He'd begged for them at the store. I'd knelt down and tied them on his feet myself while he laughed.
He wasn't laughing now.
He ran straight at me and his small fists hit my legs. Once. Twice. Again.
'Go away!' he screamed. 'You're not my mommy! You're not!'
I froze. The words didn't make sense. I looked down at him. At his face twisted with anger. At his hands hitting me over and over.
'Ethan, baby, what—'
'I want my real mommy!' He kicked my shin. The light-up heel flashed. 'Emerald is my real mommy! She said so!'
The room tilted.
I dropped to my knees. My bandaged arms reached for him automatically. Five years of reflex. Five years of picking him up when he cried, holding him when he was scared, reading him the same three books every night because he needed the ritual.
'Sweetheart, I don't understand. I'm right here. I'm—'
He flinched away from my hands. Like I'd tried to hit him. Like I was something dangerous.
He ran backward and pressed himself against the wall. No. Not the wall.
Emerald stepped out of the hallway.
She was wearing a soft pink sweater and dark jeans. Casual. Comfortable. Like she'd always lived here. Like this was her home.
Ethan ran to her and grabbed her skirt. He buried his face in the fabric.
'It's okay, baby,' Emerald said. Her hand settled on his shoulder. Possessive. Protective. 'Mommy's here.'
I stayed on my knees. I couldn't get up. My legs wouldn't work.
'What did you do to him?' My voice came out broken.
Emerald smiled. She looked down at Ethan and smoothed his hair. Then she looked at me.
'I told him the truth,' she said. 'Something you should have heard a long time ago.'
She walked forward. Ethan stayed pressed against her side. She stopped a few feet away and tilted her head. Studying me. Like I was something interesting. Something pathetic.
'Ethan is mine,' she said. 'Mine and Lachlan's. We made him five years ago. Right around the time you lost your baby.'
The floor dropped out from under me.
'No,' I whispered.
'Yes.' She adjusted the ring on her finger. My mother's ring. It caught the light. 'Lachlan and I planned it perfectly. You were so broken after the miscarriage. So empty. We knew you'd take any child we put in your arms and love it without asking questions.'
I looked at Ethan. At his face. I'd memorized every inch of it. The small scar above his eyebrow from when he fell off his bike. The way his nose crinkled when he laughed. The exact weight of him when I carried him to bed.
'You're lying,' I said.
Emerald laughed. It was light. Easy. 'Am I? Look at him, Adaline. Really look. He has Lachlan's eyes. My mouth. Not a single piece of you.'
She was right. I'd told myself a hundred times that adopted children don't need to look like their parents. That love was enough. That blood didn't matter.
But it did. It always had. To them.
'A little present to keep you docile and bleeding,' Emerald continued. She said it like she was describing a recipe. 'You were so grateful. So devoted. The perfect blood bank with a built-in reason to stay.'
I couldn't breathe. My chest was too tight.
'The car accident—' I started.
Emerald nodded. 'Staged. Every second of it. We needed you to give blood fast. Lots of it. The Henderson curse doesn't break with a few polite donations, Adaline. It takes desperation. It takes a wife so in love she'd bleed herself empty to save her husband.'
She crouched down. We were eye level now. Her face was close to mine.
'Every anniversary trip to Paris,' she said softly. 'Every midnight whisper. Every tear Lachlan cried at your bedside after the miscarriage. Performance. All of it. You were never his wife. You were his blood bank.'
She stood up. Smoothed her sweater.
'And now you've been dismissed.'
I looked at Ethan. He was watching me. His small face was uncertain now. Like he was waiting to see what I'd do.
I thought about the five years. The bedtime stories. The scraped knees I'd bandaged. The nightmares I'd woken him from. The way he used to reach for my hand in crowded places.
All of it built on a lie.
I stood up slowly. My legs shook but they held.
Emerald smiled. 'You should go now. This is my house. My family.'
I looked at her. At the ring. At Ethan pressed against her side.
I walked to the door. I picked up my keys.
I didn't look back.
