Chapter 9 - The Woman I Thought I Knew
I met Celia eighteen months earlier at a charity auction. She'd knelt beside June, asked about the stuffed rabbit in her arms, and listened as though there was nobody else in the room. I had mistaken performance for kindness. It was a mistake I would have to live with without making June carry the blame.
At our lawyer's office, Rebecca warned me not to contact Celia directly. The police were reviewing the assault allegation, the digital signatures, and the threatening messages. We needed to make sure the evidence survived more than one angry afternoon.
"I want her arrested," I said.
"I understand. But investigators decide what they can prove. You take care of June."
That evening I made macaroni and cheese. June ate half a bowl before asking, "Is it my fault there was no wedding?"
I set my fork down. "No. The wedding ended because an adult hurt you and other adults made plans they had no right to make. A spilled drink doesn't make someone hit you."
She considered that. "Mommy Hannah said accidents need towels, not yelling."
I had forgotten Hannah used to say that. I turned away long enough to steady my breathing.
After June went to bed, Vera sent us the result of a background check. Celia had claimed she once worked in children's publishing. She had actually spent a year as a contracted recruiter for Wren Harbor. She'd helped families complete intake paperwork before leaving under a cloud of complaints.
The dates were chilling. She'd worked there not long before we met.
May you like
Then Vera forwarded a photograph from an old nonprofit fundraiser. In the background stood Celia, Tessa, and Victor.
At the center of the picture, smiling beside the event banner, was Hannah—my dead wife.
