“It’s a lie!” Peyton shrieked, standing up, her chair scraping violently against the floorboards. “She forged it! She’s obsessed, she’s trying to ruin us because David chose me and our baby!”
“Oh, right. The baby,” I said smoothly. I reached into my bag and pulled out the glossy ultrasound photos from Dr. Sutton’s clinic. I held them up for the room to see. “Funny thing about babies, Peyton. They usually show up on a real medical monitor. Not on a novelty website invoice.”
I dropped the ultrasound photos onto the table, right on top of the aesthetic clinic receipts.
“Those,” I said, my voice trembling slightly not from fear, but from the overwhelming power of the truth, “are twelve-week ultrasounds. Of twins. Conceived before David’s vasectomy. Verified by Dr. Sutton yesterday morning.”
David let out a choked, guttural sound. He sank back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He knew it was true. He had seen the screen.
Eleanor stared at the ultrasound photos. Her eyes traced the two tiny shapes. Then, very slowly, she turned her gaze toward Peyton’s stomach.
“You…” Eleanor whispered, her voice shaking with a terrifying, quiet rage. “You lied to me. You sat in my drawing room, drank my tea, and told me you were carrying my grandchild.”
“Eleanor, please, I just… I needed time!” Peyton stammered, backing away from the table. “I love David! I was going to get pregnant, I swear, I just needed to secure my place—”
“You needed to secure my son’s bank accounts!” Eleanor roared, slamming her hand onto the table, making the crystal glasses jump.
read more in next page
