by Shelly Ellis
“Maybe I was just fooling myself when I thought I could make things right,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I thought I could keep my family together and put the past behind me. But I can’t! I killed a man and thought I could get away with it. I tried to raise someone else’s son as my own, and now he’s gone! And she refuses to bring him back . . . to let you or me see him again until we tell the truth about what happened, until we tell the world. That’s what she said! She’s blackmailing us, Paulette!”
“I know. I know,” she whispered, now in agony and feeling it twice over seeing him go through so much pain—pain that once again she had helped to inflict. “But we can’t just give up! We deserve our baby, Tony! You deserve to raise your son!” He stubbornly shook his head, and she rose from the kitchen chair and walked toward him. “He’s your son! Do you hear me? I took the DNA test last week. Marques is not Nate’s father.”
He twitched as if given an electric jolt. “W-what? What did you say?”
“I said I took the DNA test. I got the results. There’s a ninety-nine point seven percent chance you’re the father. Nate is yours.”
She watched as he slumped against the kitchen counter and his face changed, as a myriad of emotions flashed across it. He closed his eyes.
“You said it didn’t matter. You said you didn’t care. But the question was tearing me apart! I needed to know the truth, and now I do: Nate is yours and mine. He’s our baby—not hers—and we have to do whatever we need to do to get him back. Please, Tony . . . we need to call the police.”
He didn’t answer her for several seconds. Finally, he opened his eyes and dully nodded. “Let’s . . . let’s call them.”
She reached for the cordless phone near one of the cabinets and began to dial 9-1-1.
* * *
After the police arrived at the house, everything faded into a blur. It felt like a hundred officers had trekked through their house, collecting evidence, scouring every room for any trace of Nate or Claudia. They asked questions—lots of questions—about Claudia, about what had transpired that night, and about what had happened earlier that day. She and Antonio answered robotically, as if they had methodically synced their stories and lies prior to the police arriving.
Yes, Claudia was their babysitter.
No, she had given no indication that she might do something like this.
No, they had no idea why she would kidnap their son.
The only time one of them faltered was when one of the detectives asked, “You said you came into the house and realized she had kidnapped your boy. How did you know it as soon as you arrived?”
“Huh?” Antonio had answered numbly.
Ever since Paulette had revealed the truth about Nate’s paternity he had been in a daze, almost like a zombie.
“Why did you assume he had been kidnapped?” the detective elaborated. “Why hadn’t you just assumed she’d taken him out on an errand or . . . or something? You said she does that on occasion.”
Paulette and Antonio had glanced at each other then turned back to the detective. Antonio had cleared his throat. “Well, we . . . uh . . . we found a—”
“We found his room empty with the lights turned off,” Paulette rushed out, panicked that Antonio would reveal the letter she now kept tucked safely inside her bra, the letter that would reveal who Claudia really was and Antonio’s guilt. “She didn’t even leave his nightlight on, which she always does. When we saw that, we knew something was really wrong. We knew something was . . . different.”
The detective had looked between them before gradually nodding. “I see.”
After a few hours, the cops left with hollow promises to find Nate. The phone rang throughout the night with calls from family and friends—Evan, Leila, and even poor Terrence, who had planned to leave that very morning for his honeymoon in Jamaica with C. J. when he got the news and immediately canceled their travel plans. They all offered to come over and hold vigil with the anxious couple, but Paulette declined. Reina called when she got word of the kidnapping and ignored their request to be left alone. She’d shown up at their door in rollers and a pink bathrobe, screaming and wailing, blaming Paulette for Nate’s disappearance and “that bitch who I knew wasn’t right the moment I met her!”
Antonio had let his distraught mother sob on his shoulder for a good two hours before the older woman finally collapsed on their living room couch and fell asleep.
But unlike a snoring Reina, Antonio and Paulette couldn’t sleep. Instead they lay in bed together, staring at the ceiling, unable to get the rest they sorely needed for the press conference that was scheduled for early the next morning.
“Why didn’t you tell the cops about the letter?” Antonio whispered in the dark.
“If I told them about the letter, we would have had to tell them about Marques and his murder. They would’ve asked questions. They might find out the truth.”
The bedroom went quiet.
“Maybe it’s about time that they know the truth,” he whispered, making her snap her gaze away from the ceiling. She turned her head to face him.
“What?”
“I said maybe it’s time they know the truth.”
“Tony, if they found out the truth, you could go to jail. You could face the death penalty.”
“You don’t think I know that?” he hissed. “You don’t think I realize what I’d be doing? This isn’t a choice I wanted to make, Paulette, but it looks like I’m going to have to make it.” She watched as he slowly eased up from the mattress, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and walked across the bedroom to a small desk they used as their writing table. He turned on the table lamp.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting our son back,” he said, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a sheet of paper. He dug into the drawer again and removed a fountain pen. “You saw what she wrote. ‘Tell the world the truth. Tell them all what you did.’ So tomorrow at the press conference I’m going to do that. I’m going to say what really happened that night. I’m going to tell the world that I killed him, and then she’ll give us our son back.”
“Tony, you don’t know that!” she shouted as he pulled out a chair at the desk. “You don’t know if she was lying or just crazy or if she’s—”
“Paulette,” he said firmly, turning toward her, “we have to end this. You told me to do whatever I have to do to get our son back. That’s what I’m doing.”
She then watched helplessly as he sat down and began to write. He wrote about the events preceding the murder and what had happened that night when he strangled Marques. He apologized for the pain he caused. He wrote and he wrote—crossing out words, tearing up sheets, and starting over again. He finally stopped when the sun came up and his hands were sore and there were bags under his eyes.
“Please don’t do this,” she said, realizing that she had already lost her son and may well lose her husband forever.
“I have no other choice, baby.”
As they washed and dressed, it felt like they were preparing for a funeral, not a press conference. Paulette broke down into tears several times. When the rest of their family arrived, no one questioned her puffy eyes and solemn expression. She was a worried mother, but they didn’t know she was a grieving wife, too.
“Are you ready?” Evan asked as he stood in their living room, dressed in a business suit. So was Terrence. Though she knew it was part of his job now, she didn’t think she would ever get used to Terrence wearing a suit.
Paulette nodded up at her brothers. “I’m ready,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
Antonio nodded, too, patting his breast pocket—the pocket the contained the written confession that he would read in only a matter of minutes. “Ready.”
They opened the front door and saw all the mikes set up under their portico along with the swarm of people. Paulette should have known that a Murdoch offspring being kidnapped would make big news in Chesterton. Nearly a dozen
reporters, photographers, and cameramen were waiting in their driveway, being held back by two police officers. A few still spilled onto the front lawn, trampling the tulips along the stone border.
Some of the neighbors across the street and next door had come out of their houses to watch the hubbub. They stood under porticos, squinting and craning their necks so they could get a better view of the chaos happening at the Williams residence.
Paulette stepped onto her front porch, feeling very sick, like she would vomit right there on the brick pavers.
“Are you all right?” Leila whispered into her ear, rubbing her shoulder. “Are you going to make it?”
Paulette limply nodded, linking her hand through Antonio’s arm, leaning against his strong frame for support. The Marvelous Murdochs and their spouses huddled near the door where a group of officers and a dour-looking man in a dark suit already stood.
At first, Paulette didn’t recognize the man but then realized it was the lawyer Evan had hired on their behalf. She watched as he nodded at the throng that gathered at the foot of the stairs, signifying the start of the press conference.
“Thank you for joining us today. I am representing Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the parents of Nathan Williams. As you know from previous news reports, Nathan, or Little Nate as he is known by his family, was last seen on July fifteenth in the company of his babysitter, Claudia Rhodes,” he began. “The family has reason to believe that Ms. Rhodes has abducted Nathan and are offering a substantial reward for any information regarding his or Ms. Rhodes’s whereabouts. In addition to that, Nathan’s parents would like to issue a formal statement.”
He then turned to Paulette and Antonio. “Go right ahead,” he said, gesturing to the mikes.
They both hesitated for a few seconds, staring back at the eager faces that peered up at them. Finally, Antonio took a step forward and Paulette squeezed his bicep, silently begging him not to do this, to not throw his and their lives away. They could get Nate back without doing this. There had to be another way. But he glanced back at her, and she saw the resolve in his dark eyes. She knew it was pointless to try to stop him, so she stepped forward and stood next to her husband.
If Antonio was going to step before the firing squad, she wouldn’t let him do it alone.
She watched as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the confession. He unfolded it, loudly cleared his throat, and licked his lips. When he opened his mouth, she sucked in a breath, like she was preparing to be shoved under water. She closed her eyes.
“There are no words to describe the torture you endure when your child is taken away from you,” he began, staring down at the pages. “The sorrow that my wife, Paulette, and I feel in having Nate ripped from our home and our lives is equally indescribable. I want my son back. I need my son back. I want him safe in his mother’s arms, and I am willing to do whatever I have to do to achieve that.” He looked up and grimaced, then returned his attention to the words on the page. “For that reason, I . . . I want to confess that I—”
“They found him!” one of the reporters suddenly shouted in the crowd. “They found him! I just heard it over the radio. One of the cops picked her up during the traffic stop. Nate was in the car with her.”
“What?” someone yelled back.
“Wait, they found him already?”
Everyone began shouting—the reporters, the cops, and the Murdochs. Antonio’s face went blank. Paulette’s eyes began to water. Reina fell to her knees and started screaming hysterically, thanking God up above.
Paulette turned to her husband, ripped the confession out of his hands, and hugged him for dear life.
Epilogue
There had to be flowers—lots of flowers, Leila had insisted on it. There also had to be candles—tea lights, tapered candles, and candelabra. She wanted them on every table and in every corner.
“Whatever you want, baby,” Evan had assured Leila as they made plans with a wedding coordinator to renew their vows. He assured her that she could have the wedding she had wanted all along—not some rushed ceremony in a judge’s chambers like they had had two years ago.
The ceremony had turned out to be everything Leila had hoped for and more, as was the reception. He knew Leila would look beautiful in her wedding dress, but she had exceeded his expectations. Throughout the day, Leila seemed to glow from the inside out.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear as they sat at their wedding table. Angelica was in his lap, licking the icing from their wedding cake off her plump little fingers as she wiggled to the band music.
“For what?” he asked, turning to Leila.
She caressed his cheek. “For doing this. For trying your best. For loving us.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Lee.”
“Yes, I do! You stuck it out when you didn’t have to.”
“Neither did you,” he said, leaning over and kissing her. “Thanks for staying.”
He watched as she blinked back tears. “Don’t make me mess up my mascara again,” she blubbered.
They weren’t the only couple that had “stuck it out” so that they could find something close to a happy ending. There were several others around the reception room who had traversed seemingly insurmountable obstacles, but managed to make it through, over, and under them.
Evan’s gaze shifted to his brother, Terrence, who was currently on the dance floor doing the electric slide with Isabel, Diane, and a few of the other reception attendees. No one would guess this was the same man who had fractured his leg, lost his eye, and battled depression a few years ago. A very pregnant C. J. stood off to the side of the throng with Terrence’s son, Duncan, in her arms, smiling and laughing at her husband.
Though Duncan’s arrival had been quite the surprise for the young couple, the two seemed to be making it work even with the occasional “baby mama drama,” Terrence had conceded a few times to Evan. Despite the hiccups, C. J. adored her stepson and had taken to being a stepmother like a fish to water. For that reason, Evan had no doubt she’d make a wonderful mom when their baby arrived in two months.
Paulette and Antonio were also surviving and thriving despite the chaos in their past. Little Nate was a well-adjusted toddler, showing no signs of the trauma he may have endured during his kidnapping. Even now he laughed and squirmed in his mother’s arms at their reception table while his father tried to shovel food into his mouth.
Paulette and Antonio could have fallen apart during the kidnapping and Claudia Rhodes’s trial afterward, but they actually seemed to have gotten stronger. During her sentencing, they had each talked about learning the art of remorse and mercy and shocked the judge and prosecutors by asking for Rhodes to receive a reduced sentence for her crime. Because of their request, Rhodes would only serve fifteen years for the kidnapping instead of the thirty years to life she had faced.
“She was in pain and she made a bad decision,” Paulette had confessed to Evan when he asked her why she and Antonio had requested leniency during the sentencing. “Tony and I know how that feels.”
Of course, not everyone had reached their happy ending. Their half-brother Dante never got one, which was lucky for them, since his cherished dream was to destroy their family and everything that had been important to them.
It had been more than a year since Dante’s murder. Their half-brother had been found dead in his late mother’s house. The cops had also found two other dead bodies—two young women who were naked in bed in one of the upstairs rooms. All of the victims had been shot in the head, at point-blank range.
The cops didn’t know what to make of the young women or the squalor they had found in the home, but judging from the several pounds of weed and heroin in the house, they figured someone living there had run afoul of local drug dealers. Maybe it was a hit put out by the competition, some of the cops speculated in the news stories that had circulated for weeks after.
Evan considered it ironic that Dante had been killed merely because he was in the wrong p
lace at the wrong time, considering how many people out there had wanted to kill him—Evan included. But thanks to the many people he had crossed, death had been following Dante around for years. It was bound to find him eventually.
Evan hadn’t spoken to Charisse in more than a year after he sent her one final email saying he could no longer have contact with her for the sake of his marriage and out of respect for Leila. Despite that, she had persisted. Charisse had tried several times to speak with him again, even going so far as showing up at Murdoch headquarters unannounced, but he stoically kept his distance. Finally, she gave up. The last he had heard she had moved back to the Caribbean with her mother—to a beach community—and she hadn’t attempted to contact him since. The only exception was the week before his wedding, when he received a bouquet of two dozen white roses at his office with a mysterious note attached.
“I hope you’re finally getting what you wanted, Ev,” the note read. “I truly hope you’re happy.”
It wasn’t signed, but he caught a whiff of a familiar perfume emanating from the parchment to let him know who had written it. He gave the flowers to the upstairs receptionist and ripped up the note. He would never respond, but he also hoped Charisse was finally happy, because he certainly was.
“Everyone is dancing now,” Evan said now, turning to Leila, who was smiling at the crowd. “Wanna take another spin on the floor before the night is over? After that we can head home, set up Isabel with some popcorn and a movie, and put this one to sleep. Then we can get started on our second honeymoon,” he whispered, wiggling his brows seductively.
She chuckled. “Sure! Why not?”
They both rose to their feet, each holding Angelica’s hand as they walked to the dance floor.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
TO LOVE & BETRAY
Shelly Ellis
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