Chapter 7 — The Secret Irene Never Told Me
Chapter 7 — The Secret Irene Never Told Me
We didn't stop driving until sunrise.
Eleanor sat in the back seat with Irene.
I drove.
Nobody spoke for nearly an hour.
The desert passed outside the windshield in long stretches of darkness.
My hands remained locked around the steering wheel.
I kept thinking about the same sentence.
Your unborn child is the legal heir.
Not of my company.
Not of the family trust.
Of something much larger.
Something my grandfather had hidden.
Something people had killed for.
Something my mother was willing to destroy her own son to obtain.
I glanced at Irene through the mirror.
She was staring out the window.
Too quiet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You're lying.”
She didn't answer.
Eleanor looked at her.
“I think she has something to tell you.”
Irene's head snapped toward her.
“Eleanor.”
I looked at them both.
“What?”
Silence.
“Irene?”
She lowered her eyes.
“I didn't know how to tell you.”
My chest tightened.
“Tell me what?”
She touched her stomach.
“There was a reason your mother was so interested in my pregnancy.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don't.”
We pulled into a roadside motel just after six.
Eleanor checked the perimeter while Irene and I went inside.
The room was small.
One bed.
One chair.
A cracked mirror.
I locked the door.
Then I turned toward my wife.
“Now.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“I've been keeping something from you.”
“What?”
“Before I met you…”
She stopped.
I waited.
“I was pregnant once.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
I sat down.
“What?”
“It was years ago.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
I stared at her.
“Six years ago?”
She nodded.
“Who was the father?”
She looked at me.
“You.”
My heart stopped.
I couldn't speak.
“What?”
“It was before we were married.”
I stared at her.
“You were pregnant with my child?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because I lost the baby.”
My anger disappeared instantly.
I reached for her hand.
“Irene…”
She pulled away.
“I didn't tell you because your mother knew.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She found out.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Irene wiped her eyes.
“She came to the hospital.”
My stomach tightened.
“What hospital?”
“St. Mary's.”
“What happened?”
“She told me you couldn't know.”
“Why?”
“She said you were under enormous pressure at work.”
I stared.
“She told me you didn't want children.”
“That was a lie.”
“I know.”
“What happened to the baby?”
Irene's voice broke.
“I miscarried.”
I reached for her again.
This time she let me.
“I am sorry.”
She nodded.
“I thought I was going to die that night.”
I held her hand.
“Why didn't you call me?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Your mother answered your phone.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
“She told me you were in a meeting.”
I stared at the wall.
“My mother intercepted your call?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn't know then.”
“And now?”
Irene looked at me.
“Now I think she didn't want you to know you already had a child.”
I couldn't breathe.
All those years.
All those lies.
My mother had controlled information about my own life.
She had decided what I was allowed to know.
Who I was allowed to trust.
Even when I was about to become a father.
I stood.
“Why didn't you tell me after?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The next morning.”
I turned.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I went to your office.”
My stomach dropped.
“I remember that day.”
“You were with your mother.”
I closed my eyes.
I remembered.
Margaret had told me Irene was being emotional.
She had said Irene was upset about wedding planning.
She had convinced me not to see her.
I had believed her.
Irene continued.
“She told me you didn't want to marry me.”
I stared at her.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“Why did you believe her?”
“I didn't.”
“Then why did you stay?”
“Because I was pregnant.”
She looked down.
“And because I loved you.”
I felt tears burn my eyes.
“What happened?”
“She threatened me.”
“With what?”
“She said if I told you about the pregnancy, she would make sure you lost your company.”
I shook my head.
“She couldn't.”
“She showed me documents.”
“What documents?”
“Forged ones.”
My jaw tightened.
“She made me believe you were in debt.”
“I wasn't.”
“I know that now.”
Eleanor returned.
She stopped when she saw our faces.
“What happened?”
I looked at her.
“My mother knew Irene was pregnant six years ago.”
Eleanor went still.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor's expression changed.
“Then everything makes sense.”
“What?”
“The original trust wasn't created when your father died.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your father created it after your first child was conceived.”
I stared.
“He knew?”
“He knew Irene was pregnant.”
I looked at my wife.
She began crying.
“I never told him.”
“You didn't have to.”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Your father knew because he had someone watching Margaret.”
I felt sick.
“My father knew about my child?”
“Yes.”
“And the miscarriage?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at Irene.
“Did you tell Margaret?”
Irene hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then she knew.”
I nodded.
“She knew.”
Eleanor's face hardened.
“That changes everything.”
“What does it change?”
Eleanor sat down.
“Your father believed the child would survive.”
I frowned.
“But Irene miscarried.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he leave the trust?”
“Because he didn't know.”
I stared.
“My father thought I had a living child.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Margaret told him.”
I froze.
“She told him Irene's baby survived?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she lie?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Because the trust could only be activated by your first child.”
Silence.
My mother had created a future she could control.
She had convinced my father that his first grandchild existed.
Then she had hidden the miscarriage.
And now Irene was pregnant again.
This time, my mother couldn't control the truth.
Because the child was real.
And the trust would become active at birth.
I suddenly understood why everything had escalated.
The pregnancy had changed the stakes.
I looked at Irene.
“Why didn't you tell me about the first baby?”
She looked at me through tears.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of my mother?”
“Yes.”
“And of me?”
“No.”
She reached for my hand.
“I was afraid you'd blame me.”
“For losing our baby?”
She nodded.
I pulled her into my arms.
“I could never blame you.”
She cried against my chest.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“But I understand why you were afraid.”
Eleanor watched us quietly.
Then she spoke.
“There is something else.”
Irene pulled away.
“What?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“You didn't lose that baby naturally.”
Silence.
I stared.
“What did you say?”
Eleanor opened a file.
“This was buried in an old hospital investigation.”
She handed it to Irene.
I read the report.
My blood ran cold.
Possible exposure to an unknown medication.
I looked at my wife.
“What's this?”
“I don't know.”
Eleanor continued.
“The hospital suspected poisoning.”
Irene stared at the document.
“But they told me it was a miscarriage.”
“They did.”
“Why?”
“Because someone paid them.”
My hands tightened.
“Who?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Margaret.”
I felt something inside me break.
My mother hadn't simply lied.
She had manipulated a medical record.
She had hidden my first child's death.
And she had allowed Irene to believe she had suffered a natural miscarriage.
For six years.
I stood.
“Who was the doctor?”
Eleanor gave me a name.
Dr. Samuel Grant.
I recognized it.
He was retired now.
I looked at Irene.
“We're finding him.”
We found Dr. Grant that afternoon.
He lived alone outside Flagstaff.
He was eighty-one.
When he saw Irene, his face changed.
“I remember you.”
Irene stepped forward.
“You were my doctor.”
“Yes.”
“You told me I lost my baby naturally.”
He looked down.
“I lied.”
I felt my blood boil.
“Why?”
“Your mother threatened me.”
“With what?”
“She had evidence that I'd taken illegal payments from pharmaceutical companies.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“So she owned you.”
“Yes.”
Irene's voice shook.
“Did you give me something?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I stepped forward.
“What?”
“A sedative.”
“Why?”
“She said you were suffering severe anxiety.”
I looked at Irene.
“Was she?”
“No.”
Dr. Grant nodded.
“She wasn't.”
I stared at him.
“What did the drug do?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“I was told it was safe.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated.
“Margaret.”
I felt sick.
“Did it cause the miscarriage?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
Dr. Grant's hands trembled.
“There was something else.”
“What?”
“The baby's records.”
Irene looked at him.
“What about them?”
“They disappeared.”
“When?”
“The day after the miscarriage.”
“Who took them?”
He looked directly at me.
“Your mother.”
We left in silence.
Irene sat beside me.
She was staring at the floor.
Finally she whispered:
“Austin.”
“Yes?”
“What if she did this?”
I knew what she meant.
“What if your mother caused our first baby's death?”
I reached for her hand.
“Then we'll find out.”
“And if she did?”
I looked ahead.
“Then she will answer for it.”
That evening, Eleanor gave me another document.
It was a letter from my father.
I opened it.
Austin,
If you ever discover that Margaret interfered with your first child's life, do not confront her alone.
I stared.
He knew.
Again.
He had known something was wrong.
The letter continued.
Your mother is not acting alone.
I looked at Eleanor.
She nodded.
“Keep reading.”
I did.
There is someone above Margaret.
Someone who has been financing her for years.
Someone who wants control of the Wentworth bloodline.
Then the final line:
His name is Richard Vale.
I froze.
“Vale?”
Eleanor's face went pale.
“Yes.”
“You said your name was Eleanor Vale.”
She nodded.
“Richard was my brother.”
I stared.
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Then who is he?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with something I hadn't seen before.
Fear.
“He is the reason I disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because he wants the child.”
I tightened my grip on the letter.
“Why?”
Eleanor looked at Irene.
“Because your baby is not only the heir to your father's trust.”
She paused.
“Your baby is the last legal descendant of two families.”
“Which families?”
“Wentworth.”
“And?”
“Vale.”
Silence.
I looked at my wife.
She was pale.
“What does that mean?”
Eleanor answered quietly.
“It means the child could inherit everything.”
I understood.
The trust.
The empire.
The money.
The ownership.
All of it.
And suddenly, I realized why my mother had been willing to destroy Irene.
Why Carla had been willing to cooperate.
Why Victor Hale had threatened us.
Why someone had been watching the pregnancy.
The baby wasn't merely valuable.
The baby was the only person standing between these people and absolute control.
That night, Irene woke me.
“Austin.”
I sat up.
“What happened?”
She was crying.
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“The night I lost the baby.”
My heart tightened.
“What?”
“There was a woman in the hospital.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she look like?”
Irene closed her eyes.
“Dark hair.”
“Anything else?”
“She had a scar.”
I froze.
“Where?”
“Above her eyebrow.”
I looked at Eleanor.
My aunt went completely still.
“You saw Eleanor?”
Irene shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Irene whispered:
“Margaret.”
I stared.
“She had a scar?”
“Yes.”
“But my mother doesn't have one.”
Irene looked at me.
“She did that night.”
Silence.
Then Eleanor slowly stood.
“My God.”
“What?”
“That wasn't Margaret.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Eleanor's face had gone white.
“She has a sister.”
I stared.
“Another sister?”
Eleanor nodded.
“A twin.”
Irene's eyes widened.
“What?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Margaret wasn't the woman who came to the hospital.”
I felt a chill move through me.
“Then who was she?”
Eleanor whispered:
“Marianne.”
And suddenly, the woman my mother had spent twelve years hiding wasn't the only family secret we had left to uncover.
There was another woman.
Another face.
May you like
Another person who had been standing beside my wife on the night we lost our first child.
And if Irene was right, that woman had been preparing for our second child long before either of us knew it existed.
