I laughed when I spotted my ex-wife walking alone down a deserted road outside Franklin

Evelyn Bellamy waited in the formal sitting room beneath a portrait of Rowan’s father. She wore a navy dress, pearls, and the expression she used at funerals: dignified sorrow sharpened by control. Claire stood near the fireplace, pale but composed.

“Rowan,” Evelyn said. “You look tired.”

He looked at his mother and wondered how many times he had mistaken cruelty for strength simply because it spoke softly and wore pearls.

“I am tired,” he said.

Claire stepped forward. “You scared me.”

“No,” Rowan said quietly. “I inconvenienced you.”

Her face tightened.

Evelyn lifted one hand. “Let’s not begin with accusations.”

“Then begin with answers.”

His mother studied him. “About what?”

“Lily.”

For the first time, Claire’s mask slipped completely.

It lasted less than a second, but Rowan saw it.

So did Evelyn.

His mother’s gaze moved toward Claire, cold and warning. Then back to him. “Who told you that name?”

“Megan.”

Evelyn’s mouth compressed. “Of course.”

Rowan felt something inside him settle. The old version of him would have raised his voice. Demanded. Threatened. Tonight, he became very still.

“Where is my daughter?”

Claire wrapped her arms around herself. “Rowan, you don’t understand.”

“I understand enough.”

“No,” Evelyn said. “You understand nothing. You never have when it comes to that woman.”

“That woman gave birth to my children.”

“That woman nearly destroyed everything your father built.”

Rowan glanced up at his father’s portrait. Henry Bellamy’s painted eyes looked toward a window, as if he had always been trying to see beyond the room.

“You said it was time I learned why Dad really died,” Rowan said.

Evelyn went motionless.

Claire looked confused. That was interesting. Whatever Evelyn had meant, Claire did not know the whole of it.

Rowan turned back to his mother. “So tell me.”

Evelyn walked to the bar cart and poured water into a crystal glass. Her hand did not tremble.

“Your father was weak where family was concerned,” she said. “Sentimental. Easily manipulated by tears. By stories. By women who understood how to appear wounded.”

“Careful,” Rowan said.

She ignored him. “Before he died, Henry discovered irregularities in several family trust accounts. He believed I had approved unauthorized transfers.”

“Had you?”

“I had moved money to protect this family.”

“From what?”

“Scandal.”

Claire stared at Evelyn. “What transfers?”

Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “Be quiet.”

Claire actually obeyed.

Rowan’s pulse slowed. “What scandal?”

His mother set the glass down. “Your father found out about Hawthorne.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

“He discovered that certain families used the center to arrange discreet placements,” Evelyn said. “Children born into situations that would invite public spectacle. Affairs. addiction. instability. Inheritance disputes. He was furious.”

“As he should have been.”

“He was naive,” Evelyn snapped. It was the first crack in her composure. “He believed truth alone could clean a wound. He didn’t understand that truth can infect everything it touches.”

“And Lily?”

Evelyn looked away.

Rowan stepped closer. “You arranged her transfer.”