Page 18 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
But I'd gotten better at letting it go.
Still, the last thing I needed was to get wrapped in a man just like him who'd only end up deserting me the way my father deserted my mom…
I saw the red flags from miles away.
I wrapped myself in a towel, feeling more relaxed than I had in weeks, when a crash from the living room shattered the peaceful moment.
"Sadie!" Mom's voice, slurred and panicked, echoed through the thin walls.
"Sadie, where are you? I need… I need a drink. What did you do with my wine!"
And just like that, my peaceful moment was gone, shattered by the reality that life never quite worked out the way we planned.
"Coming, Mom," I called, and I braced myself for dealing with a situation I wished would just go away.
I wanted my mom back.
And I wanted her whole.
5
HARRISON
Idrove past Sadie's apartment complex three times before parking across the street under the pretense of taking a business call.
The converted Victorian looked tired in the gray morning light—peeling paint on the shutters, a front porch that sagged slightly under the weight of too many winters.
Her Honda sat in the narrow driveway, rust blooming around the wheel wells.
This was where she lived.
Where she came home after spending her days nurturing other people's children, including mine.
My phone buzzed with an actual call from a client, providing convenient cover for my reconnaissance.
I answered on the second ring, discussing timeline adjustments for a hotel renovation in Boston while studying the building that housed the woman who might become my wife.
If I had the guts to bring it up.
The conversation lasted fifteen minutes, but I remained parked afterward, staring at the second-floor windows and wondering which one belonged to her apartment.
What was she doing right now?
Grading papers?
Making breakfast?
Dealing with whatever crisis her life could be throwing at her?
I'd hired David Jenkins two weeks ago—a private investigator who specialized in background checks for corporate clients.
Nothing invasive, I'd assured myself.
Just the basic information any responsible parent would want before trusting someone with their child's welfare.
The report had arrived yesterday morning, delivered in a plain manila envelope that sat unopened on my kitchen counter for six hours before I found the courage to read it.
Sadie Elizabeth Quinn, age twenty-seven. Born in Worcester, Massachusetts, to Janet Marie Quinn and father unknown.
