Chapter 4 - THE FOUR DAUGHTERS OF CLAIRE BENNETT

I wanted to ask a thousand questions.

Instead, I asked the most important one.

"Are the girls safe right now?"

Claire hesitated.

"Richard knows where we live."

I looked at her.

"Has he hurt you?"

"Not physically."

That answer told me enough.

"He owns the company that holds the mortgage on my house," she continued. "He bought the debt after my husband's death."

I froze.

"Your husband?"

Claire nodded.

"Daniel Bennett."

The name meant nothing to me.

"He was a firefighter," she said. "We married when Olivia was two."

I looked toward the girls.

"Emma, Grace, and Lily?"

"Daniel's daughters."

Her voice softened.

"He loved Olivia as his own."

I swallowed.

"Was he a good man?"

Claire smiled through tears.

"The best."

I looked down.

I hadn't expected jealousy to arrive alongside gratitude.

But it did.

A stranger had raised my daughter.

A good stranger.

A man who'd been there when I wasn't.

And I hated myself for resenting him.

"What happened?" I asked.

Claire looked toward the window.

"He died eighteen months ago. A warehouse fire."

"I'm sorry."

She nodded.

"Afterward, everything became difficult. Medical bills from his injuries. Repairs to the house. The insurance dispute."

I listened.

"Mercer approached me six months ago. He offered to help."

"And then?"

"He started making demands."

Claire's hands tightened around her coffee cup.

"He said marrying him would solve everything. When I refused, he threatened foreclosure."

My jaw hardened.

"Did he threaten the girls?"

"He said he'd report me as an unfit mother if I didn't cooperate."

I looked toward Lily.

She was laughing at something Emma had said.

The sound nearly broke me.

"Claire," I said carefully, "I can help you find independent legal representation."

She looked wary.

"I don't want to owe you anything."

"You wouldn't."

"Alexander—"

"I mean it."

She studied me.

Then asked the question I'd been avoiding.

"What do you want in return?"

I looked toward Olivia.

"Nothing."

Claire's eyes filled.

I continued.

"But I'd like the chance to know my daughter."

She looked down.

"And I want the other three girls to feel safe too."

Claire began crying.

Not loudly.

Just quietly enough that the children wouldn't hear.

I reached across the table.

Then stopped.

"May I?"

She looked at my hand.

After a moment, she nodded.

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I covered her fingers with mine.

And for the first time in eleven years, I felt the distance between us begin to close.