Chapter 6 - THE CABIN I NEVER VISITED
The cabin was supposed to be a gift.
Brent had sent me photographs of a wooden house surrounded by trees.
He said it belonged to a friend.
He wanted me to spend three nights there.
Alone.
“No cooking. No laundry. No worrying about bills,” he'd said.
I remembered laughing.
“Who would watch Eli?”
“I'll arrange something.”
That had been unusual.
Brent rarely offered to handle childcare.
When I refused, he became irritated.
“You never let me do anything nice for you.”
I'd apologized.
Now, sitting across from Detective Morgan, I felt sick.
The detective didn't jump to conclusions.
She asked for the messages.
The reservation information.
The address.
I gave her everything.
Then she told me not to contact Brent while investigators reviewed the circumstances.
Two days later, Margaret called.
“Savannah, we need to talk.”
I was folding a neighbor's bedsheets.
I set them down.
“What happened?”
“The insurance company confirmed receiving an application.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was the policy active?”
“No. It was flagged for additional verification and never issued.”
I exhaled.
Margaret continued.
“But the application included forged supporting documents.”
I closed my eyes.
“And Brent submitted them?”
“The records identify him as the applicant's representative. Investigators will need to establish exactly who prepared and submitted each document.”
That evening, Grandpa came to the apartment.
He brought groceries.
Milk.
Fruit.
Fresh bread.
A small toy truck for Eli.
My son ran into his arms.
“Great-Grandpa!”
Harold lifted him carefully.
For a moment, the old man looked younger.
Then he glanced at the damp ceiling.
His expression darkened.
“Savannah, I want you both out of here.”
I shook my head.
“I can't afford—”
“You don't have to.”
“Grandpa—”
He raised one hand.
“Listen to me.”
I stopped.
He sat beside me.
“I spent years believing you wanted distance from me. Brent told me you were embarrassed by family money.”
My eyes filled.
“He told me you thought I'd married beneath us.”
Grandpa looked devastated.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
He took my hand.
“Your mother would never forgive me if I let pride keep me from helping you now.”
That night, Eli and I moved into a small guesthouse on Grandpa's property.
Not the mansion.
Not a palace.
A cozy two-bedroom cottage with a kitchen, a porch, and a bedroom painted pale blue.
Eli ran through the rooms.
“Mommy! No buckets!”
I laughed.
Then cried.
May you like
Because he was right.
For the first time in years, there were no buckets beneath the ceiling.
