Chapter 2The Lego That Ruined My Marriage

My heart didn't just break; it curdled.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and pinched his cheek gently. "When did you see Grandma and the other boy, Toby?"

"Daddy took me for cake and ice cream. Grandma was there, and the boy, and the lady." He looked up at me, his eyes wide. "The ice cream was so good. Daddy said it was our 'Little Secret.' He said if I told you, I wouldn't get ice cream anymore. But I only had three bites, Mommy. Can I have ice cream tomorrow?"

The pieces of the puzzle were jagged, but they were finally fitting together. My three-year-old was being coached to lie to me by his own father and grandmother.

"Of course, baby," I whispered. "Mommy will buy you whatever you want."

Daniel came home early that night, acting the part of the perfect father. He brought the Lego set. He spent an hour in the kitchen making shrimp scampi—my favorite. He sat on the floor and played "dinosaur" with Toby, laughing as if he hadn't spent the last three years building a second life.

I watched them from the kitchen doorway, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. He had spent so many nights "at the office," so many weekends "at conferences." I had almost forgotten what we looked like as a family.

As I tucked Toby into bed, he rubbed his face against my hand. "Mommy, Daddy played hide-and-seek today. I’m so happy."

"Aren't you happy when Mommy plays with you?"

He tilted his head. "Yeah, but Daddy is strong. He gives me 'Sky-Highs.' He gives the other boy 'Sky-Highs' too, but he hasn't done it for me in a long time. He promised he’d do it every day now. I want us to be together forever."

My mind flashed back to Vicky’s smug expression—the way she’d bragged about how "the father" of her child would stay up late just to take them to the park.

The room felt like it was closing in. Toby drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, probably dreaming of being tossed into the air.

When Daniel tried to pull me close in bed later that night, I went stiff. "I’m tired, Dan. It’s been a long day with Toby."

He didn't push. He just yawned and was asleep within minutes. The sound of his rhythmic snoring, once a comfort, now sounded like a serrated blade against my nerves.

I stared into the darkness. I hadn't asked him how he knew the passcode to Vicky’s front door. I hadn't pointed out that the men's slippers by her mat were exactly his size.

I was going to destroy him. I wanted him to lose everything—his career, his reputation, his pride. But then I looked at the monitor on the nightstand, showing Toby’s peaceful face. Toby was only three. He needed a father. He loved this version of Daniel.

My phone vibrated. A message from my lawyer.

“Found the birth registry for Vicky’s son. The father is listed as Daniel Miller. The child is three years old. He’s been cared for by Daniel’s parents since birth. His birth date is...”

My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. The boy’s birthday was only two days after Toby’s.

Everything clicked. That was why my in-laws always "confused" Toby’s birthday, sending cards two days early. That was why they were always "too sick" or "too busy" to help me with Toby.

They weren't busy. They were just with their other family. The one they had actually chosen.