Page 176 of Trust No One

My hand stilled on the pizza crust. “You did?”

“She was sitting on the edge of my bed. She smiled. And she was sad.” Tears welled. “Did you see her?”

“No, not yet. Maybe tonight.”

“You should sleep in my room tonight,” she said. “When Mommy comes, I’ll wake you up and let you know.”

A chill tightened my back muscles. “Sure.”

I used to believe . . .

I was ordinary.

Second best.

Forgettable.

But here’s the truth.

I was wrong.

I’m the smart one.

Chapter Sixty-Five

Raine

Friday, October 23, 2026, 9:45 p.m.

Molly and I searched everywhere—closets, under her bed and mine, and behind all the long heavy drapes. The only room we avoided was my mother’s. I wanted to be alone when I entered that room for the first time.

As the shadows stretched outside, I reminded myself: Ghosts weren’t real. This was a child’s way of handling her grief.

Thankfully, no trespassers—dead or living.

I tucked her into bed and read the story Madeline. She listened. Yawned. Within minutes, her breathing deepened, and her small body finally relaxed. She tumbled into a deep sleep.

Carefully, I eased off the mattress and tiptoed down the stairs. In the kitchen, I made a cup of tea. Darkness spilled across the back lawn, deepening the restless shadows.

I wanted to save this place. But I sometimes wondered if it even wanted saving. Hale House was a sleeping monster—slumbering now but ready to bite if disturbed.

I scrolled on my phone until I saw the contractor’s email. He’d outlined three renovation options: the bronze, silver, and gold plans he’d mentioned. The names made me think of the good, the bad, and the super ugly.

Looking before bedtime was a recipe for a sleepless night. Better wait until the morning. Still, I had to look. Either way, Hale House promised nothing but expensive surprises.

I opened the silver plan first. Middle of the road. Capable of making the house livable. Not crazy luxurious. The number made me catch my breath. Mid-six figures would make this place acceptable. If not for Molly, I would’ve shut the email and poured a tall glass of wine—given up and walked away.

But this land, this house, would help Molly—and me—maintain our roots in the area. Two hundred years of Hales, and it was down to the two of us.

The bronze was lower six figures, which almost seemed reasonable. The gold had too many numbers for me to process.

To pay for it all, I’d need to sell land. My attorney had warned me to wait until the divorce was final, so Ken couldn’t touch the proceeds. The trust had kept Hale House and the lands separate, untouchable. But Ken had dragged things out, and now—unbelievably—he was talking about reconciliation. And one signature from me and it was all mine . . . and maybe his.

A year ago, I’d have been glad to save our marriage. To live on the land together. Now, I wanted the divorce finished and the land out of his reach.

The hallway clock ticked. At midnight it chimed twelve times. The sounds echoed in the house. October 24. My birthday—the big thirty-five—was already a distant memory.

I hadn’t celebrated my birthday in years. The last real one was my fourteenth. My dad was still alive. I was home from boarding school. Edith had baked a cake, and she, Maria, Gabe, Mom, Dad, and I had gathered around the dining room table. They’d sung “Happy Birthday.” Simple but very special.