Chapter 4 : The Private Eye''s Full Report

#Thursday, 2:15 PM

#Allen''s Apartment, Brooklyn

The full report arrived by courier at noon. Allen had been pacing his apartment for two hours before he finally opened it. The preliminary findings had been bad enough. The full report was worse.

Donovan had included everything. Not just the summary, but the raw data. Every photograph, every receipt, every text message log. It was a forensic dissection of his marriage, laid out in clinical detail.

Allen sat at his kitchen table, the report spread before him. The photographs were the hardest. Mia smiling at another man. Mia laughing with him. Mia holding his hand. Mia kissing him in a car, in a restaurant, in a hotel lobby.

The dates told the story. The earliest photograph was dated eighteen years ago. Eighteen years. They''d been married for sixteen. She''d been cheating on him for two years before their wedding.

He flipped through the financial records. Hotel receipts from cities she''d told him she was visiting for work. Restaurant bills for two. Jewelry purchases that had never made it to her jewelry box. Perfumes he''d never smelled on her.

The phone records were a timeline of betrayal. Calls late at night, when she was supposed to be working. Texts early in the morning, before he woke up. Hundreds of them. Thousands.

And then there was the paternity confirmation. Donovan had obtained a hair sample from Mia''s brush, run a secondary DNA analysis. Mark Thompson. Emma''s biological father. A man Allen had never met, but whose face he now knew from the photographs.

His phone buzzed. Alexander.

"Have you read it?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No. I need to... process this alone."

"Allen—"

"I''ll call you later. I promise."

He hung up before Alexander could argue. He needed to be alone with this. He needed to understand what it meant.

He went through the report again, slower this time. Looking for patterns. Looking for clues he''d missed.

The affair had started eighteen years ago. Mia was twenty-two, fresh out of college, working at Johnson & Associates. Mark Thompson was her supervisor. Thirty-five, married, successful.

The first hotel receipt was from six months into the affair. A weekend in Boston. Mia had told Allen she was visiting a sick aunt.

The first jewelry purchase was a diamond necklace. Mia had told Allen her mother gave it to her.

The first photograph of them kissing was from a company Christmas party. Allen had been at that party. He remembered Mia being distant, leaving early with a headache. Now he knew why.

He kept reading. The affair continued through their engagement. Through their wedding planning. Through their wedding day.

There was a photograph from their wedding day. Mia in her wedding dress, smiling for the camera. And in the background, barely visible, Mark Thompson watching her.

Allen pushed away from the table, went to the bathroom, and vomited. He sat on the cold tiles, the taste of bile in his mouth.

Wedding vows whispered while she kissed another man. Honeymoon dinners where she compared him to her lover. The day Emma was born—had she wondered which father the baby resembled?

He went back to the kitchen table. There was more. Donovan had included information about Mark Thompson. Married with two children of his own. A successful career. A house in the suburbs. A life that looked perfect from the outside.

Allen wondered if Mark Thompson''s wife knew. If she was living the same lie he''d been living.

His phone buzzed again. This time it was Emma.

"Dad? Are you coming home soon? I''m making dinner."

He looked at the clock. It was almost five. He''d been sitting here for hours.

"I''ll be home soon, sweetheart. Don''t wait for me."

"Are you okay? You sound weird."

"I''m fine. Just tired. Long day."

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you too."

He hung up, the guilt like a physical weight. He was lying to her now. Just like Mia had lied to him. The cycle continued.

He needed to tell her. She deserved to know the truth. But how? How do you tell your sixteen-year-old daughter that her entire life is based on a lie? That the man she calls Dad isn''t her biological father? That her mother betrayed them both for eighteen years?

He couldn''t do it. Not yet. Not like this.

He called Alexander.

"Can you come over?"

"I''m on my way."

***

Alexander arrived twenty minutes later. He took one look at Allen''s face and the report on the table, and understood.

"Bad?"

"Worse than bad."

Alexander poured them both a drink. Allen told him everything. The photographs. The receipts. The phone records. The timeline. The paternity confirmation.

When he was done, Alexander was silent for a long time.

"What do you want to do?" he asked finally.

"I don''t know. Tell Emma. Confront Mia. Something. Anything."

"Not yet. You''re not ready."

"How do I get ready? How do I prepare for this?"

"You don''t. You just do it. But you need to be stronger than you are right now."

"I''m not strong. I''m broken."

"You''re not broken. You''re hurt. There''s a difference."

Allen shook his head. "It feels like broken."

Alexander reached across the table, his hand covering Allen''s. "I know. But you''ll get through this. I''ll help you."

"Why? Why do you care so much?"

Alexander''s expression was unreadable. "Because I should have told you years ago. I suspected. I had a feeling. But I didn''t say anything. I let you marry her. I let you live this lie for sixteen years. This is my fault too."

"It''s not your fault. It''s hers."

"Maybe. But I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it."

They sat in silence for a while. The apartment was dark except for the light over the kitchen table. Outside, the city was coming alive with evening lights.

"What do I do now?" Allen asked.

"Sleep. Eat. Take care of yourself. Then, when you''re ready, we''ll figure out the next step."

"I don''t think I can sleep."

"Then don''t sleep. Just rest. I''ll stay with you."

"You don''t have to."

"I want to."

They moved to the living room. Allen lay on the sofa, Alexander in the armchair across from him. They didn''t talk. They just sat in the quiet, the weight of the truth between them.

Allen closed his eyes. Mia''s lies. Mark Thompson''s perfect life. Alexander''s steady presence. The thoughts swirled—pain, anger, confusion.

Sometime later, he must have fallen asleep. When he woke, it was dark. Alexander was still in the armchair, reading something on his phone.

"You''re awake," Alexander said softly.

"What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. You slept for a few hours."

"I should check on Emma."

"I already did. She''s asleep. I texted her, told her you were working late and I was with you."

"Thank you."

"Always."

Allen sat up. His head was pounding. His mouth was dry. He felt worse than when he''d fallen asleep.

"Hungry?" Alexander asked.

"Not really."

"You should eat. I''ll make something."

Alexander went to the kitchen. Allen heard him moving around, opening cabinets, running water. It was a comforting sound. Normal. Domestic.

When Alexander returned, he had two plates of scrambled eggs and toast. They ate in silence. The food was simple, but it tasted good. Allen realized he hadn''t eaten all day.

After they ate, Alexander cleaned up. Allen watched him, this man who was so out of place in his small Brooklyn kitchen, yet so at home.

"I should go," Alexander said when he was done. "You need to sleep properly."

"Stay. Please."

Alexander looked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

They went to the bedroom. Allen changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Alexander took off his suit jacket and tie, but kept his dress shirt and pants.

They lay in the dark, side by side. Not touching, but close enough to feel each other''s presence.

"Alexander?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"You don''t have to thank me."

"I do. I don''t know what I''d do without you."

"You''d survive. You''re stronger than you think."

"I don''t feel strong."

"You will. Give it time."

Allen closed his eyes. He could feel Alexander''s warmth beside him. He could hear his breathing. It was comforting. Safe.

The report''s images still haunted him, but for the first time, they felt manageable. Alexander''s presence made the difference.

He drifted to sleep, the sound of Alexander''s breathing a steady rhythm in the dark.

Tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow he would have to start dealing with this. Tomorrow he would have to make decisions.

But tonight, he was safe. Tonight, he could rest.