However, family obligations pulled at me. “Adam would want you to go,” my mother insisted during one of her daily check-in calls. “He always said family comes first.”
So, I found myself driving to Cassandra’s small rental house in a less desirable part of town. I had a wrapped gift on the passenger seat and dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. I had barely slept since Adam died.
I spent nights staring at his empty side of the bed, reaching for a warmth that was no longer there. I parked behind a line of cars and took several deep breaths before grabbing the gift and heading inside. “No one should have to fake happiness so soon after losing their husband,” I thought.
But I plastered on a smile and knocked on the door. Cassandra’s friend, Jenna, opened it. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of me.
“Oh, Bridget, you made it,” she said, her voice oddly strained. She glanced over her shoulder before stepping aside. “Come in. Everyone is in the backyard.”
The small house was decorated with blue balloons and streamers. A banner reading “Happy First Birthday” stretched across the living room wall. I noticed a group of people I did not recognize clustered in the kitchen, whispering.
They fell silent as I passed, their eyes following me. In the backyard, more guests stood in small groups, plastic cups in hand. I spotted my parents sitting awkwardly at a picnic table, looking uncomfortable.
My father stood when he saw me, relief washing over his face. “Bridget,” he said, embracing me. “We were not sure you would come.”
“Of course I came,” I replied, setting the gift on the designated table. “Where is the birthday boy?”
“With Cassandra,” my mother said, not quite meeting my eyes. “They should be out soon for the cake.”
I mingled awkwardly, accepting condolences and deflecting questions about how I was holding up. Everyone seemed on edge. Conversations stopped abruptly when I approached.
I chalked it up to people not knowing how to act around a newly minted widow. After thirty uncomfortable minutes, Cassandra emerged from the house carrying Lucas on her hip. She was wearing a new dress I had never seen before, her hair freshly highlighted.
Lucas looked adorable in a little button-up shirt and bow tie, his chubby legs kicking with excitement at all the attention. Cassandra barely acknowledged me as she placed Lucas in his high chair. She seemed energized, almost giddy, moving around the yard with unusual confidence.
She tapped a spoon against her cup, calling for everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate Lucas’s special day,” she began, her voice carrying across the yard. “This past year has been full of surprises and challenges, as many of you know.”
The guests exchanged glances. My mother suddenly became very interested in her shoes. “I have been keeping a secret,” Cassandra continued, placing a hand on Lucas’s head.
“One that I can no longer hide, especially after recent events.” A chill ran down my spine. Something was very wrong.
“Lucas is not Tyler’s son,” she announced, her eyes finding mine across the yard. “He is Adam’s.”
The world seemed to stop. I heard gasps around me and felt my father stiffen beside me, but it was all background noise to the rushing in my ears. “Bridget’s husband and I had a brief relationship two years ago,” Cassandra continued, her voice steady and rehearsed.
“It was a mistake, a moment of weakness for both of us. We never meant to hurt anyone, but these things happen.” I stood frozen, unable to process what I was hearing.
My sister was claiming she had been intimate with my husband. She was claiming that her son, the nephew I had lovingly cared for, was actually Adam’s child. It was so absurd that I almost laughed out loud.
Cassandra was not finished. She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded document. “Adam knew the truth about Lucas. Before he died, he updated his will.”
She held up the paper. “He wanted his son to be provided for. This will states that half of the house Adam and Bridget owned should go to Lucas as his biological child.”
Every eye in the yard turned to me. I could see the pity, the morbid curiosity, and the discomfort. My parents looked stricken.
My father was half-standing as if unsure whether to intervene. And then, to everyone’s surprise including my own, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. It was not a happy smile, but the kind that comes when something is so outrageously false that it becomes almost comical.
I pressed my lips together, trying to contain the inappropriate laughter bubbling up inside me. “Oh, I see,” I said finally, my voice calm and even. I took a sip of water to buy time to push down the urge to laugh in my sister’s face.
“May I see this will, Cassandra?” Her confident expression faltered slightly. She clearly had not expected this reaction.
Slowly, she walked over and handed me the document. It was a typed page with what appeared to be Adam’s signature at the bottom. I scanned it quickly, noting inconsistencies immediately.
The formal language was all wrong, nothing like the legal documents I had seen Adam bring home. And the signature, while similar to Adam’s, was clearly forged. The connecting stroke between the ‘A’ and ‘D’ was wrong, and the final flourish was too pronounced.
I carefully folded the paper and handed it back to her. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I think I need to go now.”
“That is it?” Cassandra asked, confusion evident in her voice. “You are not going to say anything else?”
“Not right now,” I replied calmly, gathering my purse. “This is Lucas’s day. We can discuss this privately later.”
I said goodbye to my shell-shocked parents, promising to call them soon. As I walked to my car, I could hear the murmurs behind me. The party atmosphere was completely shattered.
Once inside my car, safely out of view, I finally let out the laugh that had been threatening to escape. It started small. Then it grew until tears were streaming down my face.
They were not tears of joy, but a strange mix of grief, anger, and incredulous disbelief at my sister’s audacity. Because there was something Cassandra did not know. It was something Adam and I had never shared with anyone.
It was something that made her elaborate lie not just hurtful, but impossible. The truth about Adam and Cassandra began three years ago, long before Lucas was even conceived. We had invited my sister over for dinner to celebrate her new job at a marketing firm.
Adam had prepared his famous lasagna, and we had opened a good bottle of wine. It was a pleasant evening until I excused myself to take a work call. A wealthy client was having a design emergency regarding hanging artwork.
The call took longer than expected—nearly twenty minutes. When I returned to the dining room, the atmosphere had changed. Adam looked uncomfortable.
Cassandra was sitting much closer to him than when I had left, her hand on his arm, laughing at something I had not heard. I thought nothing of it at the time. Cassandra had always been affectionate, and the wine had been flowing freely.
But later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, Adam seemed troubled. “There is something I need to tell you,” he said, sitting on the edge of our bed. “I do not want it to cause problems between you and your sister, but I also do not want to keep secrets from you.”
He explained that while I was on the phone, Cassandra had made her intentions clear. It wasn’t just friendly banter; it was inappropriate commentary about how lucky I was, followed by suggestions that he deserved someone who could truly “appreciate” him more than I did.
When he had rebuffed her, she laughed it off as a joke, saying I was “too sensitive” if he thought she was serious. I was hurt but not entirely surprised. Cassandra had always pushed boundaries.
We decided to let it go as an isolated incident, something caused by wine and her usual competitive nature. But it was not isolated. Over the next few months, Cassandra found ways to encroach on Adam whenever I was not looking.
She sent text messages that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Once, she showed up at his office uninvited, asking him to lunch. Each time, Adam gently but firmly maintained boundaries and told me immediately afterward.
After the office incident, we confronted my parents about Cassandra’s behavior. It did not go well. They suggested Adam was misinterpreting friendly gestures and that Cassandra just “looked up to him as a brother.”
My mother even suggested, with good intentions but terrible judgment, that perhaps Adam was feeling flattered by the attention and exaggerating the situation. That night, Adam and I made a decision. We would create distance from Cassandra without causing a family rift.
We declined invitations that included her and made sure we were never alone with her. Adam blocked her number on his phone after she sent a particularly suggestive late-night message. Then came the medical issue that changed everything.
Adam had been experiencing discomfort for weeks before finally seeing a specialist. The diagnosis required a significant surgical intervention to address a vascular issue. The procedure went well, but there was a complication.
The doctors recommended a sterilization procedure during the same surgery to prevent serious recurrence and health risks. It was a difficult decision, especially given our past hopes for a family. However, we agreed it was the right choice for Adam’s long-term health.
This procedure was performed two years before Lucas was conceived. We kept this medical information private. Even our parents did not know.
After years of invasive questions about our childless status, we had learned to protect our privacy around reproductive issues. The only people who knew were Adam, myself, and Adam’s doctors. After the surgery, as Adam was recovering, he made a prediction that seemed paranoid at the time.
“Cassandra is not done,” he said, sitting in our garden with an ice pack discreetly positioned. “I have a feeling she might try something more drastic one day.” I laughed it off, but Adam was serious.
The next week, he scheduled an appointment with our family attorney, James Wilson. I went with him, listening as Adam detailed Cassandra’s behavior and his recent medical procedure. James recommended documenting everything.
He advised we keep records of the unwanted advances, the medical records confirming the surgery, and even text messages and emails from Cassandra. “You never know what might become relevant,” James advised. “Better to have documentation and never need it than wish you had it later.”
We followed his advice, creating a file of everything related to the situation. Adam also updated his will properly through official channels. He made sure everything would come to me in the event of his death.
James kept copies of all documents, and we placed the originals in a safety deposit box at our bank. “Just in case,” Adam had said when we locked the box. I planned to be around to deal with any of Cassandra’s drama for at least another fifty years.
The morning after Lucas’s birthday party, I drove straight to the bank. The manager, who had known Adam and me for years, expressed condolences as he led me to the vault. I sat alone in the small viewing room and opened the box.
Adam and I had filled it with what he jokingly called our “disaster preparation kit.” Inside was exactly what I needed. There was Adam’s legitimate will, notarized and properly executed, leaving everything to me.
There were medical records detailing his surgery two years before Lucas’s conception, making it biologically impossible for him to be the father. There was a journal Adam had kept documenting every inappropriate interaction with Cassandra, including dates, times, and exact quotes. There were printed copies of text messages she had sent him.