Chapter 8 - MOTHER AND SON
The officer raised a hand.
“Sir, stay where you are.”
Andrew stared at his mother.
“You’re blaming me?”
Lorraine began crying instantly.
“You said it was only paperwork.”
Andrew laughed in disbelief.
“You forged Claire’s name.”
“You told me to help.”
“I told you to find the waiver.”
“You said if she wouldn’t sign, we had to make it work.”
“Not like this.”
I stood between them holding a sheet covered with counterfeit versions of my signature.
Seven years of marriage collapsed into something almost absurd.
“Which one of you is lying?”
They both answered at once.
“Him.”
“Her.”
The officer separated them.
Rachel arrived again.
Daniel arrived ten minutes later after I called him.
Then the state police called.
They wanted the recorder.
Everything accelerated.
Andrew eventually admitted he had discussed “creative financing” with Marcus but denied authorizing forgery.
Lorraine admitted practicing my signature but claimed she never signed a real document.
The bank later confirmed otherwise.
One signature on the guarantee matched Lorraine’s practice strokes almost perfectly.
Andrew sat at the dining table with his hands over his face.
I watched him.
“You knew she did it.”
“No.”
“You benefited from it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew enough to ask my clinic for a signature sample.”
He looked up.
“I needed it for insurance.”
“Try again.”
He said nothing.
At 9:12 p.m., my birthday dinner was a protein bar eaten beside my attorney while police photographed evidence.
Then Andrew asked to speak to me alone.
Rachel said, “No.”
I surprised her.
“Five minutes. Door open.”
We stood in the kitchen.
Andrew looked older than he had that morning.
“I loved you.”
“Past tense?”
“I still do.”
“You slept with Natalie.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eleven months.”
That answer punched harder than I expected.
I gripped the counter.
“You told me six.”
“I never told you six.”
“The photographs started six months ago.”
He closed his eyes.
“Claire…”
“Did you take Natalie’s money?”
“Yes.”
“Did you promise her my cottage?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her we were separated?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“Did you forge my signature?”
“No.”
“Did you ask your mother to?”
“No.”
“Did you know Marcus was using my house as collateral?”
He hesitated.
That was the answer.
I whispered, “You knew.”
“I thought it would be temporary.”
“You knew.”
“I was going to fix it before you ever found out.”
I laughed.
“That sentence should be engraved on the tombstone of every stupid marriage.”
He stepped closer.
“I made mistakes.”
“You built a system.”
He flinched.
Then he whispered, “Natalie was alive when I left the cottage.”
I stared at him.
“I never asked.”
His face changed.
Too late.
“You just volunteered it.”
He backed away.
I felt the room go cold.
“Andrew… what happened to Natalie?”
He looked toward the dining room.
Toward Lorraine.
Toward the police.
Then back at me.
“Ask my mother why she followed Natalie when she drove away.”
May you like
Lorraine heard him.
The scream she made did not sound human.
