: Chapter 30

“Are you shitting me?” Fisher shook his head. “Is that even possible?”

I hadn’t planned on telling my friend anything—let alone the whole story—but that’s exactly what I’d done. I’d told Fisher that Hudson might not be Charlie’s father before I’d told Hudson, and I felt so guilty for violating his privacy. But Fisher had known something was off with me all week. Tonight when he’d walked in and found me in wrinkled pajamas with hair that hadn’t been brushed in two days and swollen eyes…I didn’t really have much choice.

I sighed. “I’m pretty sure I’m right. All the facts line up—plus, I got that diary from Evelyn.”

“How did Evelyn get it?”

“I have no idea.” I shrugged. “Olivia mentioned once that Evelyn and Hudson’s ex had a falling out because Evelyn took something from her. Maybe what she stole was the diary.”

“Alright.” He put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go brush your hair and wash your face, and I’m going to go next door and get a legal pad and two bottles of wine. When I come back, you’re going to tell me all the facts, and we’ll see if I come to the same conclusion. If I do, we’ll figure out your game plan.”

I slouched into the couch deeper. “I don’t want a game plan.”

Fisher grabbed both my hands and pulled me to standing. “Don’t care. When you first started suspecting that Aiden was cheating, I blew it off. I should’ve sat you down right away and listened and come up with a game plan to get to the bottom of things. I didn’t, and you spent months stressing and suffering. We’re not going down that road again. We need resolution.” Fisher eyed the top of my head. “Plus, I think there might be a rat or two nesting in here. So go brush. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

I sulked, so Fisher walked me to my bedroom. He kissed my forehead and pushed me toward the bathroom door. “Go.”

Ten minutes later, we met on the couch. Fisher nodded to an empty wrapper. “You ate that entire thing of chocolate that was delivered?”

I frowned. The morning after I’d run out of Hudson’s house, a beautiful bouquet of exotic flowers had been delivered, along with an enormous, five-pound Hershey bar. Hudson’s note had read, You make me feel better than any amount of chocolate. I’d eaten the entire thing over the last few days while wondering if that statement would ever be true again. No amount of anandamide could get me out of my funk.

“Don’t remind me,” I said. “I feel awful. Hudson has to be freaking out about why I’ve disappeared and keep avoiding his calls and messages. But I can’t look him in the eyes with what I know. I can’t, Fisher. I’m crazy about him. I’m hurting him right now, but it’s going to be so much worse when I tell him.”

Fisher squeezed my hand. “Alright, honey. But you did the right thing. This isn’t the type of thing you spring on someone if you’re not absolutely certain. And once you’re sure, you need to figure out how to break the news gently.”

“Fisher…” I shook my head. “There is no gently. We’re talking about his daughter.”

“Okay. But you need to relax a little, so we can go through all the details. Let’s have some wine, at least. You looked less nervous telling four-hundred guests how you met the bride at the wedding of a woman you’d never seen before.” Fisher poured two large glasses of merlot and sat up straight, his pen ready. He looked very much in lawyer mode. “Let’s get started. When did Evelyn give you this diary?”

“It was a birthday present—around eighteen months ago. I remember being surprised she had gotten me anything, because I didn’t even think she knew it was my birthday.” I thought back. “You’d sent me flowers. When Evelyn saw them, she asked what they were for. I said it was my birthday, and then she went into her room and came out with the diary. It wasn’t wrapped or anything.”

“Is there any indication of years in the diary—from television programs or anything?”

I shook my head. “I read it at least a dozen times from cover to cover over the last few days. I didn’t find any.”

“Okay.” Fisher scribbled down eighteen months on his legal pad and underscored it with two bold slashes. “And when did Hudson and his ex get divorced?”

“He said Charlie was about two. So that would be four years ago.”

“So the diary could’ve been written anywhere from a year and a half ago to a hundred years ago?”

I shrugged. “I guess. But the pages aren’t yellowed or anything, so I don’t think it’s too old.”

“Okay…so the timeline works, but it would probably work for a million other scenarios, too. Let’s move on to names. Your woman’s name was Alexandria. Do we know that’s Hudson’s ex-wife’s name for sure?”

I nodded. “Hudson had only ever referred to her as Lexi, but the other night when Charlie mentioned her full name—I asked what her mom’s name was. It’s Alexandria—and, by the way, she also kept a diary. Hudson once mentioned that in passing.”

“Okay. That’s two names in common. What about Hudson? Does the diary ever say his name?”

I shook my head. “She only refers to him as H, which I assumed while reading stood for husband. But obviously that could stand for Hudson. And the guy she was having an affair with is her husband’s best friend, and she calls him J. Hudson’s best friend’s name is Jack.”

Fisher scribbled some more notes. “There’re thousands of people named Jack. It’s a common name. I bet Alexandria is, too. Again, all circumstantial.”

“But she wrote down her daughter’s name the day she was born—Laken Charlotte.”

Fisher’s brows pulled together. “And Hudson’s kid’s name is definitely Laken Charlotte?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s not such a common combination, obviously. I’ve never met anyone named Laken, but I’m sure there are quite a few in New York. We have more than eight-million people who live here.”

“There are one-thousand-six-hundred-and-sixty-two people named Laken in the United States who are under the age of thirteen, according to the Census Bureau. I looked it up.”

“Shit. Okay. Well, that’s still more than sixteen-hundred people.”

“But when I put in the first name and the last name—Laken Rothschild—they estimate that there is only one.”

“Estimate? The Census Bureau isn’t sure.”

“They tell you based on old data. It’s more of a statistical-type thing than an exact count. But basically, it’s not a popular name combination.”

“Alright, what else?”

“Alexandria was married at the New York Public Library. So were Hudson and Lexi.”

“Ugh. This isn’t looking so good.”

“Alexandria and H also lived on the Upper West Side, same as Lexi and Hudson.”

Fisher blew out a deep breath. “So there’re definitely a lot of coincidences. But I once read about a set of twins separated at birth. Both were named James by their adoptive parents, and both grew up to be cops and marry women with the same name. They also had kids with the same name, then got divorced and married women with the same name for their second marriages. They didn’t realize any of it until they met later in life. So strange shit can happen.”

I sighed. “I guess. But what do I do? Say, ‘Hey, by the way, I think there’s a possibility your daughter isn’t yours? Oh, and she might be your lifelong best friend Jack’s because he was secretly banging your ex-wife’?”

Fisher shook his head. “Jesus.” He knocked back the rest of his glass of wine. “I don’t think you have any other choice.”

“I could burn the diary and pretend I never saw it.”

“And then what? Never tell the guy his kid might not be his? I know you, Stella. That would eat a hole in your stomach.”

I looked into Fisher’s eyes. “She’s the light of his life. I think I’d rather it eat a hole in my stomach than break Hudson’s heart.”

“But you can’t even function. You haven’t had a real conversation with him since you figured all this out. You can’t keep it in unless you’re leaving his life entirely.” Fisher frowned. “Christ, if it’s true… Think of how many lives that one diary has ruined. You might never have found out what Aiden was doing had you not been reading it. And now this. It’s really crazy.” He paused, shaking his head. “But you need to tell him, honey. He has a right to know.”

It felt like there was a golf ball stuck in my throat. I swallowed. “I know.”

After our talk, Fisher and I proceeded to polish off both bottles of wine. I was trying to drown my brain, hoping maybe it would allow me to stop thinking about what I needed to do for just a few minutes. But all the alcohol seemed to do was make me feel sadder.

I felt tears threatening. “I don’t want to lose him, Fisher. I miss him like crazy, and it’s been less than a week since I saw him.”

Fisher stroked my hair. “I saw the way Hudson looked at you. That man is crazy about you, too. You’re not going to lose him, but you do need to talk to him. It can’t be avoided anymore.”

I sighed. “I know. I’ve just felt so paralyzed these last few days.”

I walked Fisher to the door about ten. “I’ll bring us breakfast in the morning when you’re sober so we can talk about how you’re going to tell him,” he said.

I sighed. “Okay. Thank you.”

He tilted my chin up. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After I shut the door, I cleaned up the wine glasses and tossed the empty bottles in the garbage. When I went to flip the kitchen light switch off, I saw Fisher had left his key to my apartment on the counter. I assumed he’d figure it out in the morning when he came with breakfast, so I flicked off the kitchen light and decided I couldn’t put off a shower any longer.

In the bathroom, I got undressed while I let the water steam up the room. Just as I put one foot into the shower, my buzzer sounded.

I sighed. Fisher realized he doesn’t have his key.

Wrapping a towel around me, I grabbed the key on my way to the front door. Maybe the alcohol had me acting carelessly, but it never even occurred to me that it might be someone other than Fisher. So without checking the peephole, I swung the door open.

“I know, I know. You forgot your ke—” I froze, finding a man who was definitely not Fisher on the other side of the door.

Hudson’s brows pulled to a troubled V. “Expecting someone else?”

“I, uh, Fisher forgot his key, so I assumed it was him.”

Hudson and I stood there looking at each other. I felt so rattled after we’d just spoken about him for hours that I didn’t know what to say or do. Hell, I hadn’t known what to say or do for a week now.

Eventually, he sighed. “Is it alright if I come in?”

“Oh…yeah, sure. Sorry.”

I closed the door behind him and tried to regain my wits, but I was so nervous that I couldn’t figure out how to function. Again we stared at each other awkwardly.

Hudson had to break our silence. “Sorry I didn’t call first.”

I tightened the corner of my towel. “It’s okay.”

“Is it? I didn’t call because I figured you would say no if I did, and right about now it feels like it’s not okay for me to be here.”

I hated that I was making him feel unwelcome. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you. Fisher was over and we drank wine, and I was about to take a quick shower and jump into bed.”

He frowned. “I can go…”

“No, no…” I shook my head. “You don’t have to go.”

Hudson caught my eye. “I was hoping we could talk.”

I nodded and thumbed toward my bedroom door. “Sure, yeah. Let me just go turn off the water and get dressed.”

“Why don’t you take your shower? I’ll wait.”

I did need a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I’d planned to deliberate for at least a few days on how to tell him what I knew. Now I had only the time it took to take a shower. “If you don’t mind, that would be great. Thank you.” I motioned toward the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

In the shower, my head was a jumbled mess, and I felt a little lightheaded. But I didn’t have time for a complete meltdown, so I stood under the water, closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths until it felt like the world had stopped spinning so fast.

There was no easy way to begin the conversation I needed to have, and I could no longer hide behind any doubts I’d fabricated about the information. Everything lined up. Even Fisher was convinced. So I guessed I’d just have to start from the beginning. Hudson already knew I read diaries, and I was pretty sure I’d told him about the one where the woman got married at the New York Public Library. So I suppose something like, I read this diary a while ago… is how I would start. But then what? Did I say, Hey, by the way, did you ever suspect your wife was having an affair? That made me hyperventilate.

What if I’m wrong?

What if I’m right?

What if telling him takes the most sacred thing in his life away?

Am I ruining a little girl’s life?

Would I want to know if my dad wasn’t really my dad?

Oh, God. That thought made my head spin even more. The way my parents slept around, it was entirely possible that my father wasn’t my father.

Oh, Lord. Who cares about my family? I wished it were me this was happening to, not Hudson and his beautiful little girl.

For the rest of my shower, random thoughts popped into my head, and I alternated between trying to keep up with them and trying to calm myself down with slow breathing. Would I die if I climbed out my bedroom window to escape? When my hands started to get pruney, I knew I had to pull my shit together.

So I turned off the water, dried off, brushed out my hair, and pulled on sweats and a T-shirt before wiping the steam from the mirror and giving myself a little internal pep talk.

Everything’s going to be fine. No matter what the outcome, eventually things will fall into place the way they’re supposed to be. It may be a bumpy road, but if a diary about a man I’m crazy about made its way into my hands before I met him—there’s a reason for it. Somehow God put this in my hands, and, in the end, everything will be right.

I took one last deep breath and whispered to myself, “It’s all in fate’s hands now.” Then I opened the bedroom door.

Only to find it wasn’t in fate’s hands.

It was in Hudson’s.

Because I’d left the diary on the coffee table, and he was currently reading it.

He looked up. “Why the hell do you have my ex-wife’s diary?”