Even Theodore’s pastor had stopped speaking.
Jacqueline looked at Gavin first.
At sixteen, he was the oldest by seven minutes.
Then Mason.
Lucas.
Clara.
Audrey.
Five children born on the same night.
Five babies Garrett had never held.
“Yes,” Jacqueline said.
Garrett stopped breathing.
She forced herself to continue.
“They’re yours.”
A sound escaped someone behind him.
His mother, Margaret Remington, covered her mouth.
Garrett stared at Jacqueline as though he had misheard her.
“All five?”
Jacqueline almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because even now, after all these years, Garrett still sounded as though the truth was too large for his mind to hold.
“All five.”
Garrett looked at the children again.
Gavin stood rigid.
Mason’s jaw was clenched.
Lucas looked more curious than angry.
Audrey had moved closer to Jacqueline’s side.
Clara simply stared at Garrett.
None of them called him Dad.
That detail seemed to hurt him more than anything else.
Felicia took a step backward.
Jacqueline noticed.
So did Garrett.
He turned sharply.
“You knew?”
Felicia’s face tightened.
“Knew what?”
His voice rose.
“That they were mine.”
“I don’t know anything about these children.”
“You told her not to open the envelope.”
Felicia glanced around the cemetery.
People were watching now.
Not whispering.
Watching.
Her expression changed.
The softness disappeared.
The grieving-family-friend performance vanished.
In its place was the woman Jacqueline remembered.
Controlled.
Calculating.
Dangerous when cornered.
“I said that because this is Theodore’s funeral,” Felicia replied. “Whatever Jacqueline is trying to do, this isn’t the place.”
Jacqueline almost admired the speed of it.
Ten years later, and Felicia still knew exactly how to move attention away from herself.
Garrett turned back toward Jacqueline.
“The envelope.”
Jacqueline held it out.
His fingers shook when he took it.
The first document was a DNA paternity report.
Not one.
Five.
Garrett stared at the page.
Probability of paternity: 99.999%.
His name appeared beside every child.
Gavin Briggs.
Mason Briggs.
Lucas Briggs.
Clara Briggs.
Audrey Briggs.
Garrett swallowed.
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
“You had them tested?”
“The Army required additional documentation when I updated emergency records before an overseas assignment.”
His eyes lifted.
“You knew for six years before that.”
“I knew from the moment I found out I was pregnant.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Jacqueline felt something inside her finally snap.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“I tried.”
Garrett went still.
“The day you filed for divorce, I tried.”
His expression changed.
Jacqueline could see the memory returning.
Their kitchen.
Ten years earlier.
A printed photograph thrown across the counter.
Felicia sitting beside Garrett.
Garrett’s father standing near the window.
Theodore arriving too late.
Jacqueline begging.
Garrett refusing to listen.
“You told me you had proof,” Garrett whispered.
“I did.”
Jacqueline pointed to the envelope.
“You gave me ten minutes to explain why a hotel in Cincinnati had my name in its guest records. Then you told me you never wanted to hear another lie from me.”
Felicia interrupted.
“There were photographs.”
Jacqueline looked at her.
“Yes.”
Everyone turned toward Felicia.
Jacqueline continued.
“There were photographs of me entering the Windsor Hotel with Captain Nathan Hale.”
Garrett’s jaw tightened.
That name still meant something to him.
Jacqueline saw it.
“Nathan was my superior officer,” she said. “His wife was there too. So were six members of our unit.”
Garrett blinked.
“What?”
Jacqueline removed the second document.
The old hotel folio.
Three rooms.
Seven names.
A military conference reservation.
Her room listed alongside Lieutenant Sarah Hale.
Captain Nathan Hale’s room was two floors above them.
“The photographs were real,” Jacqueline said. “The story attached to them wasn’t.”
Garrett stared at the folio.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Felicia showed me the hotel record. Your name and Nathan’s were on the same reservation.”
“Because the Army made one group reservation.”
Garrett looked at Felicia.
She shook her head instantly.
“That proves nothing.”
Jacqueline nodded.
“You’re right.”
Then she pulled out the third document.
“This does.”
Felicia’s face changed.
For the first time, real fear appeared.
Garrett opened the folded pages.
The heading read:
SWORN AND NOTARIZED STATEMENT OF MARCUS DELL.
Garrett looked confused.
“Who is Marcus Dell?”
Felicia whispered, “Nobody.”
Jacqueline looked directly at her.
“He was the private investigator you hired.”
The cemetery erupted in whispers.
Felicia spun toward Jacqueline.
“That is a lie.”
Jacqueline didn’t raise her voice.
“You paid him thirty-five hundred dollars to follow me for eleven days.”
“I never—”
“He photographed me entering the Windsor Hotel.”
Felicia’s mouth opened.
“He gave you the complete set of photographs. You selected only the images showing Nathan and me entering within seven minutes of each other.”
Garrett’s eyes dropped to the statement.
He began reading.
Jacqueline watched his face collapse line by line.
Marcus Dell admitted that Felicia Stanford had hired him.
Admitted she had requested photographs of Jacqueline.
Admitted he later learned Felicia had removed several images from the sequence.
Images showing Nathan’s wife.
Images showing other officers.
Images showing Jacqueline leaving the hotel restaurant with four women from her unit.
Then Garrett reached the final paragraph.
His lips parted.
Jacqueline knew exactly what he had read.
Marcus had sworn that Felicia asked him to alter the printed reservation summary.
Not the hotel’s records.
The copy Garrett had received.
Two separate room numbers had been removed.
A single reservation confirmation number remained.
Enough to make it look like Jacqueline and Nathan had shared a room.
Garrett slowly lifted his eyes.
“Felicia.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Your name is in the statement.”
“He wanted money.”
“The payment came from your account.”
“That doesn’t prove—”
“There are copies of the checks.”
Felicia stopped.
Jacqueline had not mentioned those.
Garrett turned another page.
See more on the next page
