Chapter 3: Gaslight

CHAPTER THREE

“Yes… oh, baby…”

“You like that?”

“Oh, yes… mmh!—”

I could hear their voices in the bedroom.

My husband and his “sister.”

Two days in that hospital, and not one member of the Zade family had come to see if I was still alive.

I didn’t mind. Their absence told me everything I needed to know.

I had discharged myself, taken a taxi, and what did I come home to? My husband fucking another woman on our matrimonial bed.

The door to our bedroom stood open a few inches. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the gap in a thin golden line.

I looked.

Fiona’s hair was spread across my pillow. Henry’s back was bare.

His hands were buried in her hair. Her hips rocked against his groin as he fucked her from behind. The sounds of wet flesh colliding, grunts, and moans spread through the room.

Bile rose so fast that I had to press my hand over my mouth.

How had I never seen it?

But I had. Of course I had.

The late nights Henry called business trips. The perfume on his coat that she’d laughed off.

Every sign had been right there, and I had been so desperate not to lose the family I’d built that I’d turned every one of them into a story that didn’t hurt.

Taking out my phone, I made a recording.

But it wouldn’t be enough to destroy them.

I still needed something stronger.

I didn’t want proof they could talk their way out of. I wanted something they would choke on.

“Henry? Is that you?” I called out.

The thumping suddenly stopped.

“I heard noises. Is everything okay in the bedroom? Is somebody hurt?”

A scramble followed. Then a thud. A muffled curse, quickly swallowed.

I smiled.

It was almost theatrical.

“Kira? What are you doing home?” Henry’s voice cracked.

“The hospital let me go early. Henry, are you all right? Is Fiona in there with you? I thought I heard her.”

I said this as I gently pushed the door open, on purpose.

“Don’t come in!” he barked. “Fiona’s… she’s not well. She’s having a heart attack!”

Behind him, Fiona let out a ragged, theatrical gasp that would’ve been funny if it hadn’t made my skin crawl.

I flung the door open anyway.

And there they were: Fiona on the bed, clutching her chest and wrapped in a sheet she’d clearly yanked up in a hurry, her makeup smeared, her lips swollen.

Henry stood beside her, grabbing the nearest pillow to cover himself.

I looked at the pillow.

I let my eyes go wide and confused.

“Henry… why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

For one second, nobody spoke.

Then Henry’s face twisted into something so wounded.

“Are you serious right now? My sister is dying in front of you, and you’re asking about my pants?” he snapped at me.

“I, I just—”

“Do you have any idea how selfish that sounds, Kira?” His voice rose, shaking with fury.

“I was changing, Kira! I rushed to help her! She collapsed in the middle of the room, and I was in the shower, and all you can think about is whether I’m dressed? Are you accusing me of cheating while Fiona is fighting for her life?”

“Henry… brother… it hurts.”

“Hold on, baby—” He stopped. “Sis. Hold on, sis.”

I nearly laughed in his face.

“No, no!” I clasped my hands over my mouth and let the fake tears work for me.

“I didn’t mean that! I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I was just scared—”

“You’re always scared. You’re always thinking the worst. This is exactly why your family never—” He cut himself off, hauled Fiona up in the sheet, and bundled her into his arms.

“Get out of my way. I’m taking her to the hospital. And when we get back, we’re going to have a very serious talk about your attitude.”

He shoved past me. His shoulder knocked mine hard enough to bruise.

I followed them downstairs, clutching the banister and sniffling at all the right moments. I stood in the doorway as Henry hurled Fiona into the passenger seat of his car, threw himself behind the wheel, and tore out of the driveway.

And then I saw.

Through the rear windshield, I saw Fiona sit up and throw her head back, laughing. I saw Henry glance in the mirror at the house, and laugh with her.

I saw her lean across the console and kiss him, slow and deep, and I saw him kiss her back with the one hand he had left on the wheel.

They drove all the way down the street like that.

I stood in the doorway until the car turned the corner, then shut the door gently behind me.

“Enjoy it. It’s the last time you’ll ever laugh at me,” I whispered.

I went to the bedroom first. I took Fiona’s hair strands still lying on my pillow.

In Henry’s bathroom drawer, tangled in the teeth of his silver comb, were three dark hairs. I tucked them into a separate sandwich bag.

Then I went upstairs to Tommy’s room. I didn’t expect to find him home.

They hadn’t even taken him to school today.

Tommy sat cross-legged on the rug, building a tower out of blocks. He didn’t look up when I came in. He never did anymore, I realized.

I knelt beside him and pulled a clean cotton swab out of my pocket. “Tommy, sweetheart. Open wide for Mommy. I’m checking for cavities.”

He obeyed, still staring at the blocks. I ran the swab along the inside of his cheek and sealed it in its tube.

“Mommy?”

His voice was tiny. I froze.

“Yes, baby?”

“The kids at school say…” He picked at the corner of a block. “They say I don’t look like you. They say I look like Aunt Fiona.”

I gritted my teeth.

“They say you can tell who somebody’s mom is by their face.” For the first time, his eyes lifted.

Big, brown, and terribly, terribly young.

“Are you really my mom?”

It was the cruelest question anyone had ever asked me, and he had asked it so softly.

And I couldn’t answer him.

My heart shattered to pieces.

I leaned forward and kissed the top of his head because it was the only honest thing I had left, and I whispered,

“None of this is your fault. Remember that.”

Then I stood up and left before he could see my face break.

⸻

The private diagnostic center charged triple for expedited results, and I paid it without blinking. Ten thousand dollars for the DNA test.

I handed over everything and sat in the waiting room for the next six hours.

Waiting.

Priya called twice. I didn’t pick up. I stared at the white wall and tried to pretend my chest wasn’t hollow.

At nine p.m., a nurse called my name and slid a sealed envelope across the counter.

I opened it and read.

Maternity: Fiona and Tommy Zade. Probability of relationship: 99.99%.

Paternity: Henry and Tommy Zade. Probability of relationship: 99.99%.

I read the numbers again and again.

One tear slid down my cheek and dropped onto the paper, blurring a zero.

My phone rang.

I looked at the screen. Henry.

I wiped my face on my sleeve and picked up the call.

“Henry?”

“Where are you?” He sounded tight and irritated.

“Fiona’s fine, by the way. Listen. About the loan, Mom’s been calling me every hour. Have you signed it yet?”

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated against my ear. A banner slid across the top of the screen.

[Credit Alert: Forty Million Dollars has been deposited into your account.]

Priya had done it!

I looked at the number for a moment. Then I smiled.

“Henry,” I said sweetly. “I’m so sorry I made you worry. I’ve been thinking, and you’re right. I’ve been so silly. I’m ready to sign now.”

A pause followed. Then, in a voice that melted like warm honey, he said to me, “Oh, Kira. Really?”

“Meet me at the bank tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. I’ll sort it all out.”

“That’s my good girl,” Henry breathed.

I closed my eyes. I let the words roll over me like cold water.

“I’ll see you there,” I said, and hung up.

I folded the DNA report carefully and slid it into my bag.

I will be signing something tomorrow. But it won’t be a loan.