The morning after meeting Clara, that anonymous text still burned in my mind like acid.
Text: “Don’t let Clara near Evan. She’s lying. She’s not dying. It’s a trap.”
She looked so fragile that day pale, skin stretched thin over sharp bones, eyes sunken with exhaustion. Every shallow breath she took screamed terminal illness. Yet the warning wouldn’t let me go.
Someone was still watching. Still pulling strings, and I refused to risk my son until I knew the truth.
I called Caleb while Evan was at school, my voice tight. “I want to verify Clara’s diagnosis before we let her anywhere near Evan.”
“You really think she’s faking cancer?” he asked, disbelief coloring his words.
“I don’t know what to think anymore. But after everything we’ve been through, I’m not taking chances with our son.”
