Chapter 8 - THE HUSBAND I NEVER HADAaron Whitaker existed.
“You’re lying.”
Melissa shook her head.
“I’m not.”
“How would Martha know me before she married Dad?”
“She said she knew your mother.”
Rebecca sat slowly.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
The room changed.
Until then, we had understood Martha as jealous.
Controlling.
Vindictive.
But if Melissa was telling the truth, this went back decades.
Long before me.
Long before Nick.
Maybe before Robert and Martha’s marriage.
Rebecca stared at her hands.
“My mom’s name was Helen Avery.”
Melissa nodded.
“Martha mentioned Helen.”
“How?”
“She called her a thief.”
Robert arrived thirty minutes later.
Nick had called him without explaining much.
When we told him, he looked sick.
“Martha knew Helen?”
Rebecca demanded.
Robert stood near the window.
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“I met Martha almost a year after Helen and I separated.”
“Where?”
“At a fundraiser.”
“What fundraiser?”
Robert frowned.
“A children’s hospital gala.”
Rebecca stood.
“My mother volunteered for that hospital.”
Robert went silent.
The implication landed.
Maybe Martha hadn’t met Robert by chance.
Nick asked, “Did Mom ever ask about Dad’s previous relationships?”
Robert laughed bitterly.
“Constantly.”
“Did you tell her about Helen?”
“Eventually.”
“But she acted like she didn’t know her?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca paced.
“My mother died believing Martha had no idea who she was.”
Robert’s eyes filled.
“Helen knew about Martha?”
“Of course.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“She knew everything about your life.”
The accusation hung there.
Robert sat.
“I failed you.”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
It was the first time I had heard Robert say it without qualification.
No excuses.
No explanation.
Just accountability.
Maybe everyone in this family was finally running out of places to hide.
Nick asked about the notebook.
Robert knew immediately what Melissa meant.
“Martha kept journals.”
“Where?”
“She has for years.”
“Where are they?”
“She took some when she left.”
“Some?”
Robert nodded.
“There are others.”
We drove back to Rebecca’s house—the phrase still felt strange—and spent the afternoon searching Martha’s former study.
Drawers.
Cabinets.
Closets.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the bookshelf.
One shelf held identical leather-bound gardening books.
Martha hated gardening.
I pulled one.
Hollow.
Inside was a notebook.
Then another.
Then another.
Eleven journals.
Dated across thirty-four years.
Rebecca sat on the floor.
“Jesus.”
Robert refused to read them initially.
“They’re private.”
Nick stared at him.
“She may have drugged my wife.”
Robert looked ashamed.
“You’re right.”
We began.
Most entries were ordinary.
Appointments.
Complaints.
Shopping lists.
Then we found Helen.
March 18, 1991
Saw H.A. with Robert again. He still looks at her like she is the only woman in the room.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
Robert went pale.
The date was six months before he claimed to have met Martha.
Nick whispered, “Mom was watching you.”
Another entry.
April 2
Helen doesn’t deserve him. Women like her think being sweet makes them special.
Then:
May 7
Robert told Helen it was over.
Robert looked confused.
“I ended things in May.”
Martha had known.
Before he knew Martha existed.
Rebecca kept reading.
June 16
Helen is pregnant. Robert doesn’t know yet.
Robert stood.
“What?”
Rebecca looked up.
“You didn’t know until July?”
“No.”
Martha had known before him.
How?
Then another entry answered it.
June 20
She left the clinic crying. Good.
Rebecca’s hands started shaking.
“My mother used the free clinic.”
Silence.
Nick whispered, “Mom followed her.”
The pages became worse.
Martha tracked Helen’s movements.
Robert’s office.
Restaurants.
Appointments.
Then:
September 1
Introduced myself to R.C. tonight. He seemed distracted.
The fundraiser.
The supposed first meeting.
Except it wasn’t random.
Martha had engineered it.
Robert sat motionless.
“She targeted me.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Yes.”
More pages.
Within months, Martha and Robert dated.
Then married.
After Nick’s birth, entries about Helen became less frequent.
But never stopped.
Rebecca turned five today.
Saw photograph in Robert’s wallet.
He visited her again.
Need to remind him where his real family is.
Rebecca stopped reading.
Her face was wet.
“I was five.”
Robert whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She stood.
“Stop saying that.”
He flinched.
“I don’t need apologies for something you kept doing.”
He nodded.
She was right.
Then I found an entry from twelve years ago.
The year Nick and I started dating.
My name.
Nicholas brought Claire Bennett to dinner.
My heart jumped.
I read.
Quiet. Polite. Watches people too carefully.
Next entry.
Claire is becoming a problem.
I laughed bitterly.
“I was nineteen.”
Nick looked devastated.
“She hated you immediately.”
“Why?”
The next sentence answered.
He listens to her.
That was it.
Not money.
Not class.
Not personality.
Influence.
Martha wanted to be the central emotional authority in her sons’ lives.
Anyone they listened to became a threat.
Girlfriends.
Friends.
Siblings.
Even their father.
Then came entries about Melissa.
Melissa Grant is useful.
I felt sick.
Desperate to be appreciated. Easy to flatter.
Another.
She gave me Claire’s schedule without hesitation.
Another.
People will betray anyone if you make them believe they’re finally being chosen.
Rebecca whispered, “She knew exactly what she was doing.”
Near the final notebook, the tone shifted.
More frantic.
Robert considering retirement.
Business restructuring.
Rebecca’s inheritance.
Nick’s wedding.
Everything Martha feared losing at once.
Then we found the plan.
One page headed:
WEDDING
Underneath:
Melissa — photos
prescription
card box
Rebecca
braid
speech if necessary
Robert documents
My blood ran cold.
“Speech?”
Nick looked at me.
“What speech?”
We turned the page.
A complete handwritten wedding toast.
Martha intended to stand before our guests and accuse me of cheating.
She planned to use the fake photographs.
She would claim she had caught me stealing confidential business information.
Then she would demand Nick annul the marriage.
At the bottom:
If Nick refuses, expose Robert.
Robert frowned.
“Expose what?”
We searched the next pages.
Nothing.
Several sheets had been torn out.
Rebecca examined the spine.
“These were removed recently.”
Nick looked toward Robert.
“What could she have on you?”
Robert shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Dad.”
“I mean it.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Is this Claire Collins?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Attorney Dana Reeves.”
I put the call on speaker.
“I represent Martha Collins.”
Everyone froze.
Dana continued.
“Mrs. Collins has instructed me to notify you that she intends to file a civil claim for defamation, emotional distress, and unlawful dissemination of private recordings.”
I almost laughed.
Then the attorney added:
“She is also contesting the validity of your marriage.”
Nick stepped forward.
“On what grounds?”
There was a pause.
“Mr. Collins?”
“Yes.”
“You should retain independent counsel immediately.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because your mother claims Claire was already legally married when she married you.”
The room went silent.
I stared at the phone.
“That’s impossible.”
Dana’s voice remained professional.
“She has produced a marriage certificate.”
My legs nearly gave out.
Nick caught my arm.
I had never been married before.
Never.
But according to the document Martha had just submitted…
May you like
I had married someone named Aaron Whitaker six years earlier.
And the signature at the bottom looked exactly like mine.
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