Mildred Stonebridge

Mildred Stonebridge.

The name tasted bitter on his tongue.

She wasn’t just his late wife’s mother. She was the woman who believed he had failed her daughter. And now she had come for his sons.

Every look Mildred gave him carried the same unspoken verdict.

Murderer.

He turned, already moving.

Paige was still in his bed when he told her.

She lay on her stomach, sheets twisted around her hips, scrolling lazily through her phone, lips pursed in faint amusement as she read the blogs.

“They’re calling her your wife,” she said. "Mrs Anderson.”

Thomas didn’t respond.

“She’s trending,” Paige continued lightly. “That’s impressive for someone so…inadequate.”

She leaned back as she spoke, her tone careless, almost playful, but there was a glint of satisfaction beneath it.

“Mildred is coming,” he said flatly, the words, dropped like a weight between them.

Paige’s smile slipped.

Her hand stilled mid-movement, shoulders drawing in slightly.

“What? When?” Her brows pulled together, head tilting in disbelief.

“Now.”

She sat up. “Then I’ll come down.”

Her feet found the floor immediately, already moving ahead of the decision.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate. “You’ll stay upstairs.”

The decision was already made long before he said it.

Her eyes hardened.

Whatever softness remained vanished, replaced by a familiar, dangerous edge.

“What do you mean? I’m not a secret.”

She crossed her arms, fingers digging lightly into her flesh.

“Never said you were, but this isn’t about you.”

He adjusted his cuff, a small movement to avoid her gaze.

“Nothing is about me anymore Thomas. Isn't that so?” She laugh, it didn’t reach her eyes; it cracked instead, exposing pain bruised underneath.

"Stay in this room. It's better that way, for now."

His hand found the door handle, already turned toward leaving.

"Thomas, seriously?"

She took a step forward, stopping short when she realized he wasn’t turning back.

He didn’t answer before walking out, the door closing behind him with finality.

Piper was buttoning Toby’s shirt when Thomas found her, her movements gentle, as though she were buying time.

“Someone’s coming,” Thomas said. “My mother-in-law.”

Her fingers paused on the last button.

“Oh.”

“She wants to see the boys. And you.”

Piper swallowed, her throat tightening at the news.

“What do I—”

"Just stand there,” he said. “Say as little as possible.”

She nodded.

He'd barely stepped out of the nursery when the front door swung open.

Mildred Stonebridge entered, flawless as always.

She wore a camel coat draped over a navy dress, the fabric heavy. Pearl studs, soft leather gloves, and low heels that perfected her looks. Her dusty-white hair was pinned into a tight knot.

An assistant trailed behind her with a clipboard and sleek camera, poised to capture every misstep.

Thomas stood by the door. Spine straight, shoulders squared, the posture of a man who had built wealth and buried grief under contracts and acquisitions. Piper stood next to him.

Mildred's gaze travelled over the home interior, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the imported stone, and every art resting on the wall.

Approval flickered brief over her eyes

Then her eyes found Thomas and stopped.

“Thomas,” Mildred greeted in a quiet, icy tone. “You look surprisingly well for a widower who has starved his sons of affection.”

Mildred,” he replied, forcing a polite smile. “This is unexpected.”

“So was hearing about your marriage on the internet.” She smiled faintly without warmth. Satisfied at having unsettled him.

That landed exactly where she meant it to.

Before he could respond, she stepped past him without waiting for invitation. Her heels clicked against the floor with deliberate confidence, claiming space that was no longer hers.

Thomas turned to face her, trying not to snap. The woman never seized from getting on his last nerve.

“Mildred. Why are you here? The custody hearing isn’t for another two weeks.”

“A concerned grandmother does not need a court date to check on her grandsons,” Mildred shot back, eyes already sliding past him.

They locked onto Piper.

Her eyes narrowed, with a precise scrutiny reserved for things one didn’t expect to find around them. She took in Piper’s casual clothes and the easy way Leo played around her legs.

“And this must be the...artist." Mildred made the word 'artist' sound like a disease.

"Piper, I presume." Mildred continued, eyes never leaving Piper.

Thomas hesitated slightly.

"Yes." He replied.

"This is Piper. My—wife."

He swallowed, hating how he struggled to say 'wife.'

The word landed heavy.

Paige heard it upstairs.

Piper felt it echo in her bones.

Mildred’s eyes moved back to her slowly, deliberately—taking in every flaw, the tired eyes, the child clinging next to her.

“This?” Mildred asked softly.

Piper swallowed.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Ma’am.”