Chapter 3 - SERENA’S JEALOUSY STARTED MONTHS EARLIER
Serena had not always hated Lily.
For the first six months, she barely noticed her.
Then Oliver turned one.
He started walking.
Started choosing people.
And increasingly, when frightened, tired, or sick, he reached for Lily.
That hurt Serena.
She wanted to become his mother.
Not legally yet.
Emotionally.
I understood why.
We were engaged.
She imagined marriage.
A family.
She had told me repeatedly:
“I want Oliver to know me before he’s old enough to think of me as someone new.”
Reasonable.
Then she became impatient.
She wanted Lily’s hours reduced.
I refused.
“She’s helping him through a difficult transition.”
Serena responded:
“I’m supposed to be the transition.”
That phrase bothered me.
Oliver was not moving from one mother to another.
Amelia was dead.
Lily was his nanny.
Serena was my fiancée.
Those relationships did not need to fight for one chair.
Serena thought differently.
She asked to become Oliver’s emergency contact.
Fine.
Then wanted access to his nursery cameras.
I said no because the agency’s policies and household privacy protocols limited access.
She took it personally.
Then Oliver began saying “Li-Li.”
Lily.
At first it was adorable.
Then one afternoon he apparently produced something that sounded like “Mama” while reaching for Lily.
Serena heard.
She never forgot.
That explained the violence.
It did not explain why she destroyed Amelia’s letter.
Or why she seemed to know what Santa Barbara meant.
I asked her that night.
She sat in the guest room because I would not share our bedroom until we resolved what happened.
“Did you know Grace Carter?”
“No.”
“Did you know Amelia knew her?”
“No.”
“Then why destroy the letter?”
“Because Amelia is still controlling you.”
“She’s dead.”
“Exactly.”
“That makes no sense.”
“You still live with her.”
I stared.
“Her furniture. Her photographs. Her office untouched. Her nanny—”
“Lily wasn’t Amelia’s nanny.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What?”
Serena realized she had said too much.
I leaned forward.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Serena.”
She crossed her arms.
“Months ago, I found an old payment.”
“What payment?”
“From Amelia.”
“To whom?”
“Grace Carter.”
There it was.
Not speculation.
Money.
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“When?”
“Twenty-seven years ago.”
“Why would Amelia pay Lily’s mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you find this?”
“In estate papers.”
“And didn't tell me?”
“I thought it was irrelevant.”
“Until Lily appeared?”
Serena looked away.
That was the moment everything shifted.
She had seen the Carter name months earlier.
Then discovered my new nanny had the same surname.
“Did you investigate Lily?”
Silence.
“Serena.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I had someone run her background.”
Without telling me.
“What did you find?”
“Grace Carter was her mother. Single. Died ten years ago. Lily was born in Santa Barbara.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“Grace worked briefly as a surrogate coordinator.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“For a fertility clinic.”
My stomach tightened.
Amelia and I had struggled to have children for years before Oliver.
But that was much later.
Twenty-seven years earlier, Amelia would have been twelve.
That didn't fit.
Unless the letter concerned someone else.
“Which clinic?”
“West Coast Reproductive Center.”
“Still operating?”
“No.”
“Why did Amelia pay Grace?”
“I don't know.”
“What does this have to do with Lily?”
Serena swallowed.
“I think Grace was paid to keep a child hidden.”
I stared at her.
“What child?”
May you like
She whispered:
“You.”
