I called Karen before Jeremy could stop me.
He reached across the table.
“Jill, wait.”
I moved away.
“No.”
“She may be asleep.”
“It’s ten fifteen.”
“She has work.”
“I discovered my husband’s second marriage forty-eight hours ago. Karen can lose ten minutes of sleep.”
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
I called again.
This time she answered.
“Jill?”
Her voice sounded cautious.
Not sleepy.
Cautious.
That told me everything.
“You knew.”
Silence.
Jeremy closed his eyes.
Karen whispered, “Where are you?”
“At home.”
“With Jeremy?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“How much did he tell you?”
I laughed.
That question erased any remaining doubt.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
The word hit differently coming from my sister.
Jeremy had betrayed vows.
Lacey had participated in secrecy.
Karen had shared my childhood.
She knew every version of me.
She had sat beside me at our mother’s funeral.
She had brought casseroles when I had surgery.
She had called me every Sunday for years.
And she had known.
“How long?”
“Jill.”
“How long?”
“Almost three years.”
My knees weakened.
I sat.
“So basically from the beginning.”
“Yes.”
“Before they married?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Jeremy.
He stared at the table.
“How did you find out?”
Karen breathed out.
“I saw Jeremy at Vanderbilt.”
“The night he wrote the letter?”
“I don’t know anything about a letter.”
“When?”
“June. Three years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
Exactly where page four would have begun.
“What were you doing there?”
“Mark’s father had an appointment.”
I remembered.
Robert Mercer’s heart problems.
My sister had taken him to specialists several times.
“I saw Jeremy getting coffee with a woman.”
“Lacey.”
“I didn’t know who she was.”
“What did you think?”
“That he was having an affair.”
My throat tightened.
“Did you confront him?”
“Yes.”
Jeremy finally spoke.
“She did.”
I looked at him.
“Stay out of this.”
He nodded.
I returned to the phone.
“What did he tell you?”
Karen hesitated.
“That Lacey was sick.”
“And?”
“That they had history.”
“And?”
“That nothing physical was happening.”
I stared at Jeremy.
“That was a lie.”
He lowered his head.
Karen went silent.
“You didn't know about the kiss?”
“No.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So even the people helping him lie got edited versions.”
“Jill, I wasn’t helping him.”
“You knew and said nothing.”
“I told him he had to tell you.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Then you helped him.”
Her breathing changed.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Everyone keeps using that word.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Jill.”
“You knew he was visiting his ex-girlfriend while she had cancer, and you decided I didn't deserve to know.”
“I knew Mom had just died.”
I froze.
Our mother died two months before Jeremy married Lacey.
I had been barely functioning.
There were mornings I could not remember why I entered a room.
Evenings I sat in the driveway because going inside felt impossible.
Karen continued.
“You were grieving.”
“So?”
“So you were barely eating.”
“That doesn't give you the right.”
“I know.”
“You didn't know then?”
“I thought I did.”
The anger inside me shifted.
Not smaller.
More complicated.
“What happened after you confronted him?”
“He told me he was ending it.”
I looked sharply at Jeremy.
“You told her you were ending it?”
“Yes.”
“You married Lacey three weeks later.”
“Yes.”
Karen heard him.
“What?”
I looked at the phone.
“She didn't know.”
Jeremy covered his face.
Karen’s voice rose.
“Married?”
I almost laughed.
“You knew for three years and missed the biggest part.”
“Jill, what are you talking about?”
“He married Lacey.”
Silence.
Long enough that I checked the screen to make sure the call remained connected.
“He what?”
“Courthouse. License. Ring. Her legal name became Tolley.”
Karen whispered something I couldn't hear.
“You truly didn't know?”
“No.”
Jeremy spoke.
“I never told her.”
I looked at him.
“Apparently even your conspiracy had boundaries.”
Karen’s voice shook.
“I thought he was helping with treatment.”
“He was.”
“And the house?”
I froze.
“You knew about the house too?”
Karen stopped speaking.
My stomach turned.
“Karen.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“You knew about the Nashville property?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Jeremy asked Mark about a contractor.”
I looked at my husband.
“You brought my brother-in-law into this?”
“Only for a contractor reference.”
“Did Mark know?”
Karen answered.
“Not the full story.”
“What did he know?”
“That Jeremy was helping renovate a place for a sick friend.”
I laughed.
“Does anyone in this family communicate directly?”
No one answered.
I walked toward the living room.
On the wall hung a photograph from Karen’s wedding.
Jeremy and I stood beside her and Mark.
Four smiling people.
Apparently every pair contained different amounts of truth.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the house?”
Karen said, “Because I believed Jeremy when he said it was temporary.”
“Temporary what?”
“Guilt.”
That word again.
“You thought he was helping Lacey because he felt guilty about what happened when they were young.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew about her miscarriage?”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
“You did.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She told me.”
I stopped pacing.
“You met her?”
“Once.”
Jeremy looked up sharply.
“What?”
That surprised even him.
Karen continued before I could ask.
“She called me.”
“When?”
“About a year after I saw them at Vanderbilt.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to understand you.”
I stared at the wall.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What did she ask?”
“Whether you were happy.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you say?”
“That I thought you were.”
“Thought?”
“Jill, everyone has problems.”
“Did you tell her ours?”
“Not details.”
“What did you tell her?”
Karen sighed.
“That you loved Jeremy. That whatever happened when you were young, the marriage you built afterward was real.”
I looked at him.
He was crying silently now.
I felt no urge to comfort him.
“What did Lacey say?”
“That she didn't want to destroy your life.”
I laughed.
“Then she married my husband.”
Karen went silent.
“Did she tell you she planned to?”
“No.”
“Did Jeremy?”
“No.”
“What did you think was happening for the last two years?”
“That he was helping her through treatment.”
“Every Tuesday.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought that was acceptable?”
“No.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because every time I was about to, something happened.”
I laughed sharply.
“Something always happens. That is how life works.”
“I know.”
“There it is again.”
“I was wrong.”
The directness slowed me.
Karen continued.
“I was wrong. I told myself I was waiting for Jeremy to handle his own marriage. Then I told myself Lacey was dying and exposing everything would only hurt everyone. Then enough time passed that admitting I knew became its own betrayal.”
I sat.
That was the first explanation that sounded fully true.
Secrets grow roots.
After a while, people protect them not because the original lie makes sense but because revealing it exposes how long they participated.
“Was page four about you?” I asked.
“What page?”
I explained the letter.
Karen sounded confused.
“I never touched any letter.”
I looked at Jeremy.
He spread his hands.
“Then who did?”
Karen asked, “What did Jeremy write about me?”
“He doesn’t remember.”
“I remember the conversation,” Jeremy said.
I looked at him.
“Then tell it now.”
He nodded.
He described Karen confronting him outside the hospital coffee shop.
She had been furious.
Accused him of cheating.
Threatened to call me immediately.
Jeremy told her about the cancer.
The miscarriage.
His guilt.
The kiss.
Karen looked shocked through the phone.
“You told me there was no affair.”
“I told you it wasn’t ongoing.”
“You never mentioned a kiss.”
“I thought I did.”
“You didn't.”
I rubbed my forehead.
Even his confession had apparently been selective.
“What happened next?” I asked.
Jeremy continued.
“Karen told me to stop seeing Lacey alone.”
“I did,” she confirmed.
“I agreed.”
“And then?”
“Lacey called that night.”
Jeremy’s voice changed.
“She was in the emergency room.”
Karen sighed.
“I remember.”
“I went back.”
“Did you tell Karen?”
“Yes.”
“I told him to tell you.”
“Then Dad had the stroke,” I said.
Jeremy nodded.
“And everything got postponed.”
Karen said softly, “I thought he was going to tell you after Robert stabilized.”
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
“And then Mom died.”
Silence.
Our mother had already been sick for years, but her death still came suddenly.
A nighttime fall.
Complications.
Three terrible days.
Then gone.
“I couldn't tell you at the funeral,” Karen whispered.
“What about afterward?”
“You were drowning.”
“What about six months later?”
She said nothing.
“A year?”
Nothing.
“Two?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
“What did you think I would do?”
“Cut me off.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
Jeremy sat alone beneath the hanging light.
Maybe that was the core of all of it.
Jeremy feared conflict.
Karen feared rejection.
Lacey feared dying unchosen.
I feared having been the villain in someone else’s life.
So everyone lied.
Different reasons.
Same damage.
“What happens now?” Karen asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you leaving him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Lacey really dying?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Days.”
Karen began crying.
Despite everything, my anger faltered.
“You cared about her.”
“I met her more than once.”
I went still.
“How many?”
“Four or five times.”
“Why did you tell me once?”
“I panicked.”
I closed my eyes.
“Karen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep confessing in layers.”
“I know.”
“Tell me everything now.”
She breathed out.
“I visited her after Amanda died.”
My eyes opened.
“You knew about Amanda too.”
“Yes.”
I almost threw the phone.
“Of course.”
“Lacey called me because she had learned who Amanda was.”
“And Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“About two years.”
“You knew before Jeremy.”
“Yes.”
Jeremy stood.
“What?”
Karen continued quickly.
“Lacey made me promise not to tell.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because she said you would turn it into another thing you needed to fix.”
That silenced him.
Karen was right.
Even I could see that.
She continued.
“She didn't want you trying to become part of Sophie’s life because of guilt over what happened decades ago.”
Jeremy sat down again.
I looked at the property documents.
“She left money for Sophie.”
“I know.”
I almost shouted.
“You know that too?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She asked whether Mark and I would accept money for Sophie’s education if it came anonymously.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't want another secret.”
The irony was painful enough to be funny.
I laughed.
Karen did too, briefly.
Then both of us stopped.
“She eventually decided to put it in a trust,” Karen said.
“I saw.”
“Jill.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“I believe you.”
She cried harder.
“That does not mean I forgive you.”
“I understand.”
“I need time.”
“I know.”
I looked at Jeremy.
He watched me carefully.
“Karen, tomorrow Lacey is going to a chapel.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“To say goodbye.”
“To Jeremy?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Are you going?”
“I haven't decided.”
“You should.”
I stiffened.
“Don't tell me what I should do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why did you say it?”
“Because I think you deserve to see the end of the thing everyone hid from you.”
That was not a bad reason.
I hated that.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.”
I ended the call.
Jeremy remained silent.
“Any more family members?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“David.”
“I know.”
“Lacey’s lawyer.”
“Obviously.”
“Her doctors knew I was involved, not necessarily the details.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
I looked at the missing page.
“Somebody removed page four.”
“Yes.”
“Karen says it wasn't her.”
“I believe her.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I examined the envelope.
The flap had been sealed but could have been steamed open.
Old-fashioned, but possible.
“Who had access to the garage?”
Jeremy thought.
“David sometimes.”
“Karen?”
“Once in a while.”
“Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Lacey?”
“No.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Never.”
“Who knew about the letter?”
“My lawyer knew I had written something.”
“You said he didn’t know where it was.”
“I didn't think he did.”
“What is his name?”
“Thomas Reed.”
I wrote it down.
“Tomorrow, after the chapel, we talk to him.”
Jeremy stared at me.
“You’re going?”
I looked toward the window.
Night pressed against the glass.
“I’m going to the chapel.”
His face shifted.
Relief.
Fear.
Both.
“Why?”
“Not for you.”
“I didn't assume—”
“Yes, you did.”
He stopped.
“I’m going because Karen said one intelligent thing tonight.”
“What?”
“I need to see the end of what everyone else decided I was too fragile to know.”
Jeremy nodded slowly.
Then I pointed toward the hallway.
“You sleep in the guest room.”
“Of course.”
“And tomorrow, no touching me. No private signals. No asking me to reassure you.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
He gathered the documents.
I stopped him.
“The box stays.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because I’m reading everything.”
He nodded.
Then went down the hall.
I sat alone for another hour.
Near midnight, I reached the bottom of the banker’s box.
One final folder remained.
No label.
Inside was a photocopy of an old handwritten note.
Not Jeremy’s writing.
Lacey’s.
The date was twenty-two years earlier.
Two days before she left town.
Jeremy, I know what happened with Jill. I know more than you think. If you want the truth about the baby, meet me before I leave.
My skin went cold.
At the bottom, another sentence had been added in different handwriting.
He never came.
I stared at it.
Jeremy had told me he knew Lacey was pregnant before she left.
Lacey had said he knew.
But this note suggested there had been something else about the pregnancy.
Something he never learned.
I walked to the guest room and opened the door.
Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed.
He looked up.
“What happened?”
I held out the note.
“Tomorrow just became more complicated.”
His face changed when he saw it.
“Where did you get that?”
“In your box.”
“That wasn't there before.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I have never seen that note in my life.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Note Hidden in Jeremy’s Box Pointed Back to Lacey’s Pregnancy, but Neither of Them Could Explain Who Put It There
A Routine Question About My Marriage Sent Me Looking for One Paper I Never Thought I Would Need
Part 8 of 43
