Chapter 43

The morning sun cast golden rays through Evelyn Sinclair's window as she prepared for the day. She carefully selected fresh fruits and Henry Whitmore's favorite almond cookies before heading to Willowbrook General Hospital.

Her footsteps echoed through the sterile hallway as she approached her grandfather's room. The empty bed greeted her, sheets neatly tucked with no sign of recent occupation.

At the nurse's station, a woman with sharp features looked up. "You're Mr. Whitmore's granddaughter?" Her lips curled in a sneer. "He passed three years ago. The funeral home has his ashes."

The paper bag slipped from Evelyn's trembling fingers. Oranges rolled across the linoleum floor.

Her breath caught. The world tilted. Three years. Gone. Without a final goodbye.

The crushing weight pressed against her chest until breathing became painful. She stumbled outside, the winter drizzle mixing with hot tears on her cheeks.

At the funeral home, she cradled the simple urn. Olivia Bennett found her kneeling in the rain, clutching the vessel like a lifeline. "Evelyn, darling," Olivia whispered, wrapping her in a warm embrace.

Together, they arranged a proper burial in Maplewood Cemetery. The freshly turned earth smelled of damp soil and regret.

Back at the hospital, Evelyn demanded answers. "Natural causes," the nurse shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

Natural? Henry Whitmore had been the picture of health when she last saw him. Something wasn't right.

Among his belongings, she discovered a delicate gold pendant shaped like a butterfly. The name 'Evelyn' glimmered in delicate script. She fastened it around her neck, its weight both comforting and heartbreaking.

Three years lost. Three years stolen.

Job hunting proved difficult with a prison record. At Blackwood Enterprises' gleaming headquarters, fate intervened.

Victoria Lancaster emerged from a chauffeured Bentley, designer heels clicking on marble. Recognition burned through Evelyn like wildfire.

"Can you believe it?" A receptionist gushed nearby. "Victoria Lancaster - from nobody to Montgomery heiress overnight. And now engaged to Alexander Blackwood! She even gave him a son!"

The words struck like physical blows. Victoria wasn't a Crawford at all, but Eleanor Kingsley's long-lost daughter.

The interview passed in a blur. Evelyn got the position, but her mind reeled with questions. That evening, she scoured social media.

Victoria's profile displayed a cherubic toddler with Alexander's piercing eyes and stubborn chin. The caption read: "My little prince, Ethan, two years old today."

The timeline didn't add up. If they'd waited three years to marry, why did their child look exactly two? The math gnawed at Evelyn's thoughts like persistent rats.

Something was terribly wrong. And she would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.