Two weeks later, Charlotte sat in the cramped studio apartment she’d managed to rent with her dwindling savings, watching Emma and Ethan sleep on the pull-out couch that served as their bed. The twins had finally stopped asking when they could go home, but Charlotte wasn’t sure if that was progress or surrender. Her phone buzzed with another overdue notice, and she silently declined the call. The temp agency had promised her something soon, but “soon” didn’t pay for groceries or keep the lights on.
She’d sold her wedding ring three days ago. The beautiful solitaire David had proposed with was now $4,700 in her checking account. Charlotte had always been a fighter—growing up in foster care had taught her that much. She’d worked three jobs to put herself through nursing school, had saved every penny to build the life she’d dreamed of. When she met David at the hospital where she worked, she hadn’t been looking for a wealthy husband. She’d been looking for someone who saw her worth beyond her circumstances. David Thornfield had been that man.
The quiet, gentle accountant who brought her coffee during her double shifts, who listened to her dreams of traveling the world and having a family that stayed together. He’d seen past her rough edges, past the defensive walls she’d built around her heart.
“You’re going to change the world, Charlotte Williams,” he’d whispered on their second date. “And I want to be there to watch you do it.”
But David had secrets, she realized now. In five years of marriage, she’d never once seen his bank statements. He’d handled all the finances, insisting she focus on her career and, later, on the babies. She’d trusted him completely—maybe too completely. The mysterious phone calls that started after his diagnosis, the way he’d suddenly become protective of his laptop, his files, even his mail. The strange men in expensive suits who’d visited the house when she was at work. David had explained them away as insurance adjusters, medical consultants, legal advisors for the mounting bills.
But there was Vincent. Vincent Castellano had been David’s college roommate, his best man at their wedding, the twins’ godfather. He was also the only person from David’s life who hadn’t attended the funeral. Charlotte had called him twice, left voicemails, but he’d never responded. Strange for a man who used to call David every Sunday without fail.
Emma stirred on the couch, her small hand reaching out. “Daddy,” she whispered, still half asleep.
Charlotte’s heart clenched. “No, baby. It’s Mommy.”
“Is Daddy coming back?” The question hung in the air like a physical weight. Charlotte had been honest with the twins about death, as honest as you could be with three-year-olds. But how do you explain to children that their father is gone forever, especially when you’re not entirely sure what else he might have taken with him?
“No, sweetheart,” Charlotte whispered, smoothing Emma’s curls. “But Daddy loved you so much. More than all the stars in the sky.”
“Grandma Margaret said Daddy spent all the money,” Ethan mumbled from beside his sister. “She said we’re poor now.”
Charlotte’s jaw clenched. She’d explicitly asked the Thornfields not to discuss finances with the children. But apparently, even that boundary was too much to respect.
“We have everything we need,” she said firmly, though her empty refrigerator suggested otherwise. “We have each other, and that’s what matters most.”
But as she watched her babies sleep, Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling that David wouldn’t have left them with nothing. The man who read Forbes magazine religiously, who’d built a successful accounting practice from scratch, who’d always talked about planning for the future—that man wouldn’t have gambled away his children’s security on experimental treatments. Unless he’d been planning for a different kind of future entirely.
Her phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t a creditor. The number was unfamiliar, but something about it made her pulse quicken.
“Charlotte, this is Vincent Castellano.” The voice she remembered from Sunday dinners and birthday parties was strained, urgent.
“Vincent, I—where have you been? I tried calling after the funeral.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Charlotte, I need to see you. Tonight, if possible. There are things about David—things his family doesn’t know. Things you need to know.”
Charlotte’s grip tightened on the phone. “What kind of things?”
“The kind that change everything. Can you meet me at my office? And Charlotte, don’t tell anyone you’re coming. Not anyone.”
As she hung up the phone, Charlotte felt the first spark of something she hadn’t experienced in weeks: hope. Maybe David hadn’t abandoned them after all. Maybe he’d just hidden the truth so well that even death couldn’t reveal it. She looked at her sleeping children, then at the eviction notice taped to her door. Whatever Vincent knew, it had better be worth the risk.