She whispered, barely audible, “You’re… Emily, aren’t you?”
I felt the floor tilt under me.
Because inside Daniel’s secret farmhouse…
was the woman my husband had been hiding.
And she clearly knew exactly who I was.
I gripped the doorframe, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The girl—no, woman—looked terrified, like she expected me to scream or throw something. Instead, I could only whisper, “Who are you?”
She swallowed hard. “My name is Maya Collins.”
The name meant nothing to me, yet something about the way she said it made my stomach sink further.
“How do you know me?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked to my left hand, to my wedding ring. “Daniel talked about you… a lot.”
I felt a sharp, physical sting, like the words themselves cut into me. “You knew my husband?”
Maya hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes. For almost two years.”
Two years. My legs nearly gave out. I sat in the old wooden chair beside the bed, clutching the armrests.
“You need to tell me everything,” I said, my voice barely steady.
Maya folded her hands over her belly. “Daniel met me in town. I was working at a diner then. He came in every Thursday morning. We talked, just small things at first. I didn’t know he was married. He always hid his ring. When I found out, I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. He begged me to listen. Said his marriage was complicated, that he felt trapped.”
Her voice cracked. “He moved me here about a year ago. Said no one could know. He paid the bills, bought groceries, visited twice a week. He told me he inherited this place and… that he wanted to keep it separate from his other life.”
Separate from his other life. Meaning me.
“And the baby?” I asked, barely breathing.
She nodded. “Six months.”
My throat burned. Daniel and I had tried for years with no success. Endless tests, heartbreak after heartbreak. Yet here she was—pregnant with his child, living in the home he refused to let me even step into.
I tried to stay composed, but my voice trembled. “Why didn’t you come forward after he died?”
Maya’s eyes filled with panic. “Because someone came here first.”
The blood drained from my face. “Who?”
“A man. Three days after the accident. He said his name was Caleb, claimed he was Daniel’s business partner. He searched the house—every drawer, every bag—looking for something. He kept asking me if Daniel left anything behind. I told him no.”
