Across town, the atmosphere in Rachel's house was heavy — the kind of quiet that carried too much unsaid.
She paced the living room restlessly, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up and dropped the same book over and over.
How could she tell Ramsey? How could she tell him what she'd hidden for twenty-one years?
Her heart raced just thinking about it. The lie had gone too far, too deep. And now, with that missing file and the old memories resurfacing, she could feel everything closing in.
"Mom?"
The voice made her freeze.
Daniel stood at the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder. His eyes narrowed slightly — studying her face. "You okay?"
Rachel forced a smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "Of course, sweetheart. Why wouldn't I be?"
He stepped closer. "You've been pacing since morning. You're worried about something."
She waved it off. "I'm fine. Really."
He hesitated, unconvinced. "Alright… I was just about to go out with Ben. We're meeting up at the diner. I'll be back later."
She nodded, trying to keep her tone steady. "Okay, drive safe."
He smiled faintly before walking out. The sound of the door shutting behind him was like a crack splitting through her chest.
Rachel sat down slowly on the couch, her fingers clutching the edge of her dress. The silence was unbearable. Her heart felt like it was being torn between fear and guilt — fear of what Ramsey would say, and guilt that maybe, just maybe, their missing child was still alive out there… living a life they knew nothing about.
Her eyes filled with tears she could no longer hold back. She whispered into the emptiness — words no one could hear.
"How do I tell you, Ramsey… that the child we lost might not have been lost at all?"
The tears rolled down quietly, her body trembling under the weight of secrets she'd carried too long.
Her gaze drifted to the old wooden box on the shelf — the one she hadn't opened in years.
And outside, somewhere across the city, Jeff was still thinking about that same file — the one that might hold the truth Rachel feared the most.
Evening settled softly over the mansion, the kind of calm that made the whole house feel warmer than it really was. The lights were dimmed to a cozy glow, the huge TV flickering against the high walls of the living room.It was filled with blankets and half-empty snack bowls.
Jenn sat curled up on the couch beside Alden, while Jovi and Jovan's friend, Marco, sprawled on the carpet with a pillow under his chin not far to the twins.
The current movie was a rom-com, light and funny, until a particular scene flashed on the screen:
The male lead dragging his jealous best friend away from a situation, saying,
"Stop pretending you don't care. It's obvious to everyone but you."
Jovi burst out laughing.
Jovan threw his popcorn in the air. "Yo! Looks like Alden andJenn!"
The room erupted.
Everyone laughed —
except Jenn… and Alden.
The joke landed exactly where it shouldn't.
Jenn forced a tiny smile, trying not to show how awkward she suddenly felt. But then she spoke — a comment that slipped out before she could stop it:
"Well, Alden doesn't care about things like that. He never does."
The room went quiet.
Alden's jaw clenched so fast it was almost subtle.
Jovi froze mid-bite.
Jovan swallowed hard.
Maya looked like she wanted to rewind time.
Jenn realized her mistake too late. "Alden, I didn't mean—"
But he was already pushing himself up from the couch.
Already walking away.
The disappointment in his shoulders was louder than any argument.
Jenn stood quickly. "Alden, wait—"
He didn't stop until he reached the stairs.
She followed him, her heartbeat thudding.
"Alden, hey, listen. I didn't mean it that way. It just came out wrong."
He finally turned, slowly — eyes dark, hurt threaded into the anger.
"You think I don't care?" he asked, voice low and sharp.
"You really think I don't feel anything?"
Jenn's throat tightened. "Alden, no, I wasn't saying—"
"Then what were you saying?" he demanded softly. "Because for weeks, Jenn… I've been trying."
He stepped closer — close enough she could see how much it cost him to speak.
"Trying to respect your boundaries.
Trying not to cross lines.
Trying to act like I don't notice every tiny thing about you."
Jenn's breath caught.
He wasn't yelling.
But the honesty hurt more than shouting ever could.
Jenn blinked, stunned.
He took a step closer, angry and vulnerable all at once.
"You say I don't care, but I'm the one losing sleep over you. I'm the one pulling back so you won't feel uncomfortable. I'm the one trying not to ruin what you have with Jeff."
Jenn swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Alden, that's not what I meant—"
"But that's what it sounded like."
His voice cracked slightly. "That I don't care. That none of it matters."
A silence stretched between them — hot, painful, sharp.
Jenn reached for him. "I'm sorry."
Alden looked at her hand… and stepped back.
"This is why I keep my distance," he said quietly. "Because one wrong sentence from you can tear me apart, and you won't even realize it."
"Alden, please—"
But he shook his head and walked away again — not angrily this time, but like someone trying to protect what little strength he had left.
Jenn stood frozen in the hallway, breath unsteady, the weight of her mistake pressing down on her.
And just like that…
their first real fight began.
Jenn shut her bedroom door softly and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. Her chest felt tight — guilt swirling in her stomach like a knot she couldn't untangle. The house was quiet now, too quiet, the kind of silence that made her replay every word she'd said.
Her phone buzzed.
Jeff calling.
She hesitated for a second, swallowed the lump in her throat, then answered.
"Hey," Jenn whispered.
Jeff immediately picked up on it. "Your voice… what happened?"
"Nothing," she forced a small laugh. "I'm just tired."
"You sure?"
His tone softened. Concern threaded through every word.
"You sound like you've been crying."
Jenn looked up at her ceiling. "I'm okay, Jeff. Really. Just a long day."
Jeff didn't believe her, but he didn't push.
"Alright. I just wanted to check on you before bed."
That alone made her chest tighten.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Jenn."
When the call ended, the silence pressed down again.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and climbed into bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. She told herself she'd apologize again in the morning, fix things, make it right.
But morning had other plans.
The mansion felt colder than usual. Or maybe that was just her.
Jenn walked into the dining hall slowly. Jovi was yawning loudly, Jovan scrolling through his phone. Alden sat at the far end of the table, perfectly straight, perfectly composed, carved out of silence.
"Good morning," Jenn said softly.
Jovi looked up. "Morning."
Jovan lifted a hand lazily. "Hey."
Alden didn't raise his head.
After a moment, he replied, flat and distant:
"Morning."
Jenn swallowed.
It felt like her heart dropped to the floor.
She sat across from him, hands trembling slightly as she picked up her fork.
"Did you… sleep well?" she tried.
Alden didn't look up.
"Yeah."
Short. Icy. Like he was talking to a stranger.
Jovi kicked Jovan under the table.
Jovan gave her a look that screamed, Oh boy, something happened.
Jenn pretended to eat, though her stomach was in knots.
Alden ate without a word.
He didn't glance her way.
Not once.
Not even when her fork slipped and hit the plate loudly.
He just kept eating.
Jenn bit her lip, an ache burning behind her ribs.
When breakfast ended, chairs scraped quietly against the floor. Jovi and Jovan headed out first.
Alden stood, adjusted his backpack, and walked past Jenn like she wasn't even there — not a flicker of reaction in his eyes.