My mother humiliated my wife on our son's first birthday, forcing her to serve everyone while caring for our sick baby.

Chapter 2

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What did Mason plan to do with that deed — and what did Connor do next?

Comment **"NEXT"** if you want Part 2.

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PART 2

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The officer held up the deed and looked straight at Mason.

"Want to explain why you had this?"

Mason said nothing.

But his hands were shaking.

Teresa was still screaming from the driveway.

"That house should have been mine!

I raised him!

Everything he has, he owes to me!"

One of the officers pulled me aside quietly.

"Sir, this deed has been altered.

Someone changed the ownership name.

We're going to need you to come to the station."

My legs went cold.

I looked back at Amy, still sitting in the car with Frederick pressed against her chest.

She hadn't eaten a real meal.

She hadn't slept properly in weeks.

And the whole time, she had said nothing to me.

Not one word.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked her through the window.

She looked down.

"She said if I told you, she would make sure you chose her over us."

That sentence broke something in me.

Then Mason's phone lit up on the ground where he'd dropped it.

The screen showed a message from a number saved only as "Uncle R."

It said: *"Is it done?

Did she sign?"*

Sign what?

Who was Uncle R?

I had never heard that name in my life.

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What Connor found out about "Uncle R" changes everything — and it goes deeper than anyone at that party knew.

Read the full story in the link below.

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PART 3

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The police station smelled like burnt coffee and old carpet.

Amy sat beside me in a plastic chair, Frederick finally asleep against her shoulder.

Someone had brought her a bottle of water and a packet of crackers from a vending machine.

She ate them slowly, like she was afraid someone would take them away.

I couldn't stop looking at her hands.

The skin around her knuckles was raw from the dishes.

A detective named Harlow set a folder on the table between us.

He was a quiet man, mid-fifties, with reading glasses pushed up on his forehead.

"Mr.

Bradley.

The deed your cousin was carrying — it's a forgery.

A good one, but not good enough." He opened the folder and slid a page toward me.

"The notary stamp is real.

The signature is not."

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My mother humiliated my wife on our son's first birthday, forcing her to serve everyone while caring for our sick baby.

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