Chapter 6 - THE THING I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO KNOW
For the next three weeks, our house changed.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
It happened in small ways.
Cole started doing his own laundry.
He stopped leaving his cleats in the hallway.
He learned that towels did not magically walk from the bathroom floor into the washing machine.
And, most importantly, he started saying thank you.
Not the automatic kind teenagers muttered without looking up from their phones.
Real thank-yous.
“Thanks for dinner, Rachel.”
“Thanks for reminding me about the dentist.”
“Do you need help with that?”
The first time he asked that last question, I nearly dropped a casserole dish.
He was sixteen.
Sixteen-year-old boys were not supposed to voluntarily ask adults if they needed help.
I smiled.
“I’d love some help setting the table.”
He nodded and grabbed the plates.
For a while, I thought our family had finally found its new rhythm.
Then the phone call came.
It was a Thursday afternoon.
I was sitting at my desk at work when an unfamiliar number appeared on my screen.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice came through.
“Is this Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“This is Linda Mercer. I’m Cole’s school counselor.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is Cole okay?”
There was a pause.
“He’s physically fine.”
That was never a good way to begin a sentence.
“What happened?”
“I’d rather discuss it in person.”
I stared at the clock.
“What is this about?”
Another pause.
Then she said quietly, “It concerns a financial matter involving Cole.”
My eyebrows pulled together.
“Financial?”
“Yes.”
“Did he steal something?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I think you need to speak with his father.”
I called Grant immediately.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Where are you?”
“At the office.”
“We need to talk.”
His tone changed instantly.
“What happened?”
“I just got a call from Cole’s school counselor. She said there’s a financial matter involving him.”
Silence.
“Grant?”
“I’ll come home.”
He arrived twenty-five minutes later.
His face looked strange.
Not worried.
Not confused.
Guilty.
We sat at the kitchen table.
“What do you know?” I asked.
Grant rubbed his jaw.
“Cole asked me for money two weeks ago.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“For what?”
“He said he needed equipment.”
“And did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I checked his account.”
I leaned forward.
“What did you find?”
Grant looked at me.
“He had received almost two thousand dollars over the past month.”
I froze.
“From whom?”
“We don't know.”
My heart began pounding.
“What do you mean, you don't know?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
I stood.
“Where is he?”
“Practice.”
“Call him.”
Grant pulled out his phone.
Before he could dial, the front door opened.
Cole walked in.
He was carrying his backpack.
He saw both of us sitting at the table.
His expression changed.
“What’s wrong?”
I looked at him.
“Sit down.”
He slowly placed his backpack on the floor.
“Am I in trouble?”
“That depends,” Grant said.
Cole swallowed.
“About what?”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Where did you get two thousand dollars?”
His face went completely white.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Cole whispered,
“I knew this was going to happen.”
My heart sank.
“What was going to happen?”
He looked at his father.
Then at me.
And finally, he reached into his backpack.
He pulled out a small envelope.
He placed it on the table.
“This is everything.”
Grant opened it.
Inside were several printed emails and a bank statement.
I picked up the first page.
My eyes moved down the screen.
Then stopped.
The money wasn't from a sports company.
It wasn't from a scholarship.
It wasn't even from someone Cole knew.
It was from a company called Harrison Youth Development Foundation.
I looked at Cole.
“Who are they?”
Cole's lips trembled.
“I don't know.”
Grant stood.
“Then why are they paying you?”
Cole's eyes filled with tears.
“Because someone told me to take it.”
“Who?”
Cole looked at me.
And whispered a name I hadn't heard in eight years.
“Mom.”
The room went silent.
Cole's biological mother had been absent from his life for years.
She had disappeared after a bitter custody battle when he was eight.
As far as I knew, she had moved to another state.
But now she was apparently back.
And she had been sending my sixteen-year-old stepson money.
Money she didn't want Grant to know about.
Money she didn't want me to know about.
I sat down slowly.
“Cole,” I whispered, “why didn't you tell us?”
He wiped his face.
“Because she said if I told Dad, she'd disappear again.”
Grant's face hardened.
“What exactly did she want from you?”
Cole hesitated.
Then he said,
“She wanted information.”
My blood ran cold.
“What kind of information?”
Cole looked at the papers.
“About our family.”
I stared at him.
“What information?”
He looked straight at me.
“About you.”
And suddenly, every strange thing that had happened over the last few months felt connected.
The anonymous texts.
The missing documents.
The questions Cole had started asking.
The unfamiliar car I'd noticed outside the house.
None of it had been random.
Someone had been watching us.
And now I knew why.
But I still didn't know the most important thing.
May you like
What exactly did they want from me?
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