Attached were images of two canceled checks.
Signed by Felicia Stanford.
Theodore had found them.
That was the part Jacqueline herself had not known until three months earlier.
After Theodore died, an attorney named Samuel Voss contacted her Army legal office.
He said Theodore Remington had left instructions.
Not money.
Not property.
A sealed archive.
For Jacqueline.
Theodore had spent years reconstructing what happened.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Because unlike his son, Theodore had eventually asked the one question Garrett had refused to ask.
What if Jacqueline had been telling the truth?
Garrett lowered the papers.
“When did Dad know?”
Jacqueline’s anger softened.
“Not soon enough.”
“When?”
“About five years after the divorce.”
Garrett looked toward his father’s casket.
The grief on his face deepened.
“He never told me.”
“He tried.”
Garrett turned.
Jacqueline reached into the envelope again.
There was one final item.
A letter.
Not to Jacqueline.
To Garrett.
His name was written across the front in Theodore’s handwriting.
Garrett’s fingers froze.
“When did you get this?”
“Three months ago.”
“And you didn’t open it?”
“It wasn’t mine.”
His eyes remained fixed on his father’s handwriting.
Felicia suddenly stepped forward.
“Garrett, don’t.”
Everyone looked at her.
The words had come too quickly.
Too desperately.
Garrett stared.
“Why?”
Felicia said nothing.
“Why don’t you want me to read my father’s letter?”
“This is emotional. You’re grieving. Jacqueline arrived here deliberately trying to cause—”
“Stop saying her name.”
Felicia fell silent.
Garrett tore open the envelope.
Jacqueline watched him read.
The first lines nearly brought him to his knees.
Garrett,
If you are reading this, I failed to fix something while I was alive.
That failure belongs partly to me.
You were my son, and ten years ago you were angry. I encouraged that anger because I believed protecting the Remington name mattered more than slowing down long enough to hear your wife.
I was wrong.
Garrett closed his eyes.
Margaret began crying quietly behind him.
He continued.
I investigated the evidence used against Jacqueline.
It was manipulated.
Felicia Stanford paid for the surveillance and possessed the complete hotel documentation before giving you altered copies.
Jacqueline did not betray you.
You betrayed your marriage by refusing to hear her.
That sentence landed harder than anything else.
Garrett lowered the letter for a moment.
Jacqueline looked away.
She did not need to watch him break.
She had already done her breaking.
Ten years earlier.
Alone.
Pregnant.
Humiliated.
Then Garrett began reading again.
There was more.
I also learned that Felicia intercepted at least three communications Jacqueline attempted to send after the divorce filing.
Garrett suddenly looked up.
“What?”
Jacqueline’s face went blank.
That part was new to her.
“What did he say?”
Garrett looked at the letter again.
His voice shook.
“He says you sent me letters.”
“I did.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
Garrett stared at her.
“I never got them.”
Jacqueline’s heartbeat changed.
The cemetery seemed to disappear.
“I mailed one to your apartment.”
“I had moved back to the estate.”
“I know. So I sent the second here.”
Margaret looked confused.
“I never saw anything.”
“The third was certified,” Jacqueline said. “It was returned.”
Garrett kept reading.
His face went white again.
According to Theodore, the Remington estate’s former housekeeper, Mrs. Evelyn Price, had admitted something shortly before her death.
Felicia had collected Garrett’s mail during the weeks after the divorce because Garrett was traveling for work.
Three envelopes addressed in Jacqueline’s handwriting arrived.
Felicia took them.
Mrs. Price later saw one burning in the fireplace.
Garrett’s head snapped toward Felicia.
She backed away.
“You burned her letters?”
Felicia’s mouth trembled.
“No.”
“The housekeeper saw you.”
“She was eighty years old.”
“You burned them?”
“I was protecting you!”
The words exploded across the cemetery.
Nobody moved.
Felicia realized what she had said.
Too late.
Garrett looked at her with horror.
“Protecting me from what?”
Felicia’s breathing became shallow.
Jacqueline felt Gavin’s hand tighten around hers.
Garrett stepped closer to Felicia.
“From what?”
Felicia’s face twisted.
“From her.”
She pointed at Jacqueline.
“She was always leaving.”
Jacqueline stared at her.
“I was in the Army.”
“You chose the Army over him constantly.”
“That was our marriage, and Garrett knew exactly what my career involved.”
Felicia laughed bitterly.
“You think that makes it better?”
Garrett looked sick.
“You destroyed my marriage because you didn’t like that she deployed?”
“No.”
Felicia’s voice cracked.
“I destroyed nothing.”
“You forged evidence.”
“I showed you what was already happening.”
“You burned her letters.”
“You had already divorced her!”
“She was pregnant!”
That silenced everyone.
Felicia looked toward the children.
And something ugly surfaced in her expression.
Not surprise.
Not guilt.
Resentment.
Garrett saw it.
“You knew.”
Felicia looked away.
“You knew she was pregnant.”
“No.”
Jacqueline felt the pieces align.
Suddenly she remembered the third letter.
The certified letter.
The one that included a copy of her first ultrasound.
She had been twelve weeks pregnant.
At that appointment, the doctor had stared at the monitor for an eternity before calling in another technician.
Five fetal heartbeats.
Quintuplets.
Jacqueline had walked out of the clinic shaking so hard she could barely hold her keys.
She called Garrett eleven times.
Blocked.
She called the Remington estate.
Felicia answered.
Jacqueline had said only one sentence before Felicia hung up.
Tell Garrett I’m pregnant.
Jacqueline looked at her.
“You answered the phone.”
Felicia’s eyes widened.
Garrett turned.
“What?”
Jacqueline remembered every second now.
“September eighteenth. Ten years ago. Around seven in the evening.”
Felicia shook her head.
“You can’t possibly remember—”
“I remember because I had just learned I was carrying five babies.”
Garrett stopped moving.
Jacqueline continued.
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