Chapter 3: Ghosts and Red Flags

A few years ago, Nathan came home looking like he’d seen a ghost. It was February—I remember because the crocuses were just starting to bloom in our yard.

I knew something was wrong right away—he didn’t greet me, didn’t even look at me. He sat on the sofa, silent, knuckles white, then finally said he’d run into a family member of the man who killed his parents.

Nathan was eighteen, a freshman at MIT, when a drunk driver slammed into his parents’ car on Route 128. Everyone died instantly. The wreck was so bad they used dental records.

Lauren Hayes was the daughter of that drunk driver.

Nathan only found out after she’d worked as his secretary for three months—routine security check. His eyes were red, his hands shook so hard he nearly dropped his coffee.

"Em, what should I do? I know she’s innocent, but I can’t stop wanting to make her pay. Sometimes I even think about... God, what’s wrong with me?"

I hugged him and whispered, "It’s in the past. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want. No one would blame you."

He clung to me, sobbing into my shirt until it was soaked.

A month later, I asked about it. He seemed composed again. "I moved her to logistics. It’s fine."

"Why not let her go? Give her a good severance?"

He shrugged, too calm. "You’re right, I can’t live in the past. I’ll treat it as a test. Don’t worry, Em."

After that, I never saw Lauren again—until today.

I blurted it out before I could stop myself. "I remember you’re not Nathan’s secretary."

Lauren smiled politely, but it never reached her eyes. "Secretary Thompson’s on maternity leave. A few of us from logistics are covering for now. Just temporary."

"Thanks for helping out." I tried to soften my tone.

Lauren wasn’t pretty—not Nathan’s type. She was short, thin, with plain features and Ann Taylor clothes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.

She dipped her head, way too formal, like she was scared to make eye contact.

"Mrs. Brooks, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head out."

As she lowered her head, I saw red marks dotted across her neck. My mind immediately jumped to the worst—hickeys, maybe. Or was it just a rash? I couldn’t stop staring.

Nathan walked in from his meeting—Tom Ford suit, tall and sharp, looking every inch the executive.

He leaned in the doorway, smiling that soft, crinkly-eyed smile.

"Look who finally visits me at work. Usually I have to beg."

I hugged him, breathing in his Creed cologne. "Maybe I should come by more. Your staff basically threw me a parade."

He ruffled my hair, half annoyed, half affectionate. "Hey, I’m the one who wants you here. The rest of them can fend for themselves."

I spoke carefully: "Lauren brought me tea."

He went quiet, jaw tensing for a split second. "She’s filling in. Don’t worry, Em—I can handle it now. I’ve had therapy."

I looked up at him. "Mom always said you had a steel will. She saw something special in you. Nathan, you’re a success because you never give up. She was right."

He looked at me, eyes unreadable. After a moment, he kissed my forehead, holding on a little longer than usual.

"That’s only because I have you. You make me want to be better."