I never expected my father-in-law’s will to come with strings attached—let alone a live-in spy.
For a year, our family was trapped in Leonard’s mansion, forced to play happy family under the watchful eye of Morrison, a man with a notebook and no patience for rule-breakers. The daily dinners were torture. Evelyn’s passive-aggressive comments. Garrett’s smug silence. My daughter’s sudden accusation: “Mom’s hiding something.”
Then Evelyn dropped the bomb. “One of these children isn’t really family.”
Thomas turned white. I knew why. Jack, my oldest, wasn’t his biological son. We’d agreed never to tell him. But Evelyn had dug up the past and was ready to use it.
That night, I overheard her plotting with Morrison. “Once the DNA test proves Jack isn’t Thomas’s, the money is ours.”
I confronted her, my voice shaking. “You’d really hurt an innocent boy for this?”
Evelyn shrugged. “Blood matters.”
So I gave her an ultimatum: “Take my share. But Jack never finds out.”
The next dinner, Evelyn was all sweetness, laughing with the kids like nothing had happened. Morrison avoided my gaze, already spending his payoff in his head.
And I? I realized some family secrets are worth keeping—even if they cost you everything.
