What if there were no secret children?
Under that, in heavier ink: "I'll let it go. But I won't forget what she's capable of."
I sat there on the bed, journal open, hands shaking.
Two kids. Her kids. Not his.
What if there were no secret children?
What if she'd walked into my grief and decided it wasn't enough?
I picked up my phone and called Peter.
I told him everything.
Peter was Greg's closest friend from work. He'd been at the house three times already, fixing things that weren't broken because he didn't know what else to do.
He answered fast. "Ev?"
"I need your help. And I need you to believe me."
I told him everything. The note. The cameras. What Susan had said. What I'd read in the journal. He went quiet.
"Peter?" I whispered.
"I'll help you find out what's real."
"I believe you," he said finally. "I knew Ray. If he'd had kids with someone else, he wouldn't have been able to hide it. He was a terrible liar."
A weak laugh escaped me.
"I'll help you find out what's real," he said. "You deserve that."
***
The following afternoon, he sent his son, Ben.
"I'll lose my temper if I go," Peter told me. "Ben's calmer."
