“The test found a 99.99 percent probability that Mark is the biological father.
Eric was excluded.”
Natalie lunged toward me.
“Give me that.”
Grant stepped between us without touching her.
“The original belongs to Mark,” he said.
“That is a certified copy he authorized Mrs.
Bennett to use.”
Natalie’s eyes snapped toward Mark.
“You gave it to her?”
“I gave it to the person you were planning to humiliate with my child.”
“You don’t know that it’s your child.”
“The laboratory does.”
Her composure fractured.
She dropped the microphone.
It struck the carpet with a dull thud and rolled beneath the cake table.
Eric kept staring at Mark.
“You knew?”
“I learned the result three weeks ago.”
“And you came here anyway?”
Mark looked at me before answering.
“Rachel asked me to.”
That finally turned the room back toward me.
I had spent the entire evening allowing Eric and Natalie to believe the celebration belonged to them.
Now, surrounded by the flowers I had chosen and the photographs from my marriage, I explained why we were all there.
“Four months ago, Grant showed me evidence of Eric and Natalie’s affair,” I said.
“I could have confronted them at home.
I could have screamed, broken dishes and given them time to coordinate another lie.
Instead, I waited.”
Eric’s face tightened.
“You set us up.”
“No.
I gave you a stage.
You chose what to say on it.”
Several guests murmured in agreement.
Natalie pointed at me.
“You invited everyone here just to embarrass me.”
I looked at the woman who had taken a microphone to announce that she was giving my husband the family I supposedly could not.
“You took the microphone, Natalie.
I never asked you to make that announcement.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Eric moved closer to me and lowered his voice.
“Rachel, we need to speak privately.”
“You had four months to speak privately.”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain it here.
You had no problem letting her announce it here.”
The guests nearest us went silent again.
Eric glanced toward the exits.
I recognized the calculation in his eyes.
He was searching for the cleanest escape.
There wasn’t one.
Grant opened the folder to the next section.
Inside were hotel invoices, restaurant receipts and copies of charges from our joint credit card.
Eric had paid for suites, gifts and weekend trips while telling me he was working.
Two Nashville trips had never happened at all.
