Chapter 5 - The Woman at the Curb
I didn't scream. I didn't freeze.
A strange, predatory calm settled over me—the instinct of a mother whose den is being watched.
I stepped away from the window, keeping behind the curtains. I walked into the living room where Gwen was watching her movie, completely oblivious, her small face bathed in the blue glow of the television screen.
"Gwenny," I said calmly.
She looked up. "Yes?"
"I want you to go into my bedroom upstairs. Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone unless you hear my voice saying your middle name. What is your middle name?"
"Rose," she whispered, her eyes widening with sudden alarm. "Mommy, what's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, sweetie. I just need to make a quick phone call and speak to someone outside, and I want you safe upstairs. Take Barnaby. Go on."
She scrambled off the couch, sensing the steel in my voice, and sprinted up the stairs. A second later, I heard the firm *click* of my heavy master bedroom door locking shut.
I walked to the kitchen, grabbed my phone, and dialed 911.
"Dane County Emergency, what is your location?"
"1424 Elmwood Terrace," I said in a low, level voice. "There is a suspicious vehicle parked at the corner of Elmwood and Pinckney. Silver sedan, Illinois plates. A woman matching the description of a suspect who attempted to unlawfully access a child at Hawthorn K–8 yesterday is currently stalking my home. My husband and twelve-year-old son are en route from the school right now."
"Officers are being dispatched, ma'am. Stay inside your residence and keep your doors locked."
"Understood."
I hung up.
I didn't stay inside.
I walked to the front door, unlocked the deadbolt, and stepped out onto the porch.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and spring lawn clippings. The street was quiet. Across the asphalt, sixty yards away, the silver sedan’s engine was idling. Through the driver-side window, I could see the outline of a woman with dyed-blonde hair cut in a sharp bob, wearing dark sunglasses.
The moment I stepped onto the porch and stared directly at her car, she stiffened.
She knew I had spotted her.
Instead of putting the car in reverse and speeding off, the driver’s door opened.
A tall woman stepped out onto the curb. She was wearing a beige trench coat, designer sunglasses, and high-heeled boots that clicked sharply against the pavement. She looked polished, wealthy, and completely out of place in our middle-class neighborhood.
She took off her sunglasses, hanging them from the lapel of her coat.
Her face was sharp, with high cheekbones and thin, cruel lips. And though Silas had Joe’s dark hair, his jawline—that stubborn, angular jut of the chin—was an exact mirror image of the woman standing by the car.
Brenda.
She crossed the street, walking straight toward my lawn with an easy, mocking confidence that made my stomach burn with pure acid.
"Colleen, right?" she called out, stopping at the edge of the driveway, ten feet from where I stood on the top porch step. "You look tired, honey. Stepparenting must be wearing you out."
"You have five minutes before the police arrive," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Step one foot onto my grass, and I will defend my home."
Brenda let out a dry, musical laugh. "The police? On what charges? Standing on a public street? I haven't touched you, Colleen. I haven't even touched your precious grass."
"You approached my son's school under a false name. You sent harassing messages to a twelve-year-old child."
"I sent messages to *my* son," Brenda corrected, her voice suddenly dropping into a razor-sharp sneer. "My flesh and blood. Did you really think Joe could keep him hidden from me forever? Did you really think you could play mommy to my boy while parading your little charity-case daughter around like she’s his equal?"
My fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms. "You abandoned him in a hospital bassinet, Brenda. You gave up every legal right to Silas twelve years ago. You didn't give a damn if he lived or died."
"I was young," Brenda said, brushing an invisible speck of lint from her sleeve. "I was overwhelmed. But things change, Colleen. My father passed away six months ago in Lake Forest. He left a substantial trust. Five million dollars, to be exact. But there’s a condition in his will."
She took half a step closer, her eyes gleaming with cold triumph.
"The trust only disperses to me if I have custody of his only grandchild. If Silas isn't living under my roof by his thirteenth birthday, the entire estate goes to a wildlife foundation."
The absolute depravity of the scheme took my breath away.
This had nothing to do with maternal instinct. This had nothing to do with regret, or love, or Silas’s well-being. It was about five million dollars.
"You're sick," I whispered.
"I’m practical," Brenda replied smoothly. "And Joe made a fatal mistake twelve years ago. He thought he was being so noble by signing that birth certificate. But I did my research, Colleen. I hired a private investigator who pulled the old clinic records. Joe Barrett isn't Silas's biological father. A single court-ordered paternity petition will void his fraudulent adoption claim in thirty days."
"You surrendered him!"
"Under duress," Brenda purred. "That's what my high-priced attorney will argue. A frightened, postpartum mother manipulated by her older, controlling husband into signing away her rights. The judge will order a DNA test. Joe will be exposed as a fraud. And Silas... well, Silas already hates that little girl upstairs. I've been feeding him the truth for three weeks. He already knows this family is built on lies."
At that exact moment, a familiar blue pickup truck turned the corner onto Elmwood Terrace.
Joe’s truck.
The engine roared as Joe caught sight of the silver sedan, then saw Brenda standing in our driveway.
The truck skidded to a halt against the curb, blocking Brenda’s car in. The driver's door flew open, and Joe leaped out, his face contorted in a mask of pure, murderous rage.
From the passenger side, Silas stepped out into the street.
"Brenda!" Joe bellowed, marching toward the driveway with his fists balled. "Get the hell away from my family!"
Brenda didn't flinch. She turned slowly, offering Joe a radiant, venomous smile.
"Hello, Joey," she said, her voice dripping with mock affection. "It's been twelve years. You haven't aged well."
Then she turned her eyes toward Silas.
Silas was frozen on the sidewalk. His school backpack hung off one shoulder. He was staring at Brenda with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Silas," Brenda said, her voice softening into a rehearsed, melodic warmth. "Look at you. You're so handsome. You look just like your grandfather."
Silas took a half-step forward, his voice cracking. "Are you... are you my mom?"
"Silas, get inside the house!" Joe shouted, placing himself directly between Silas and Brenda. "Do not speak to her! Go to your room right now!"
"Why?" Silas yelled, his voice breaking into hysterical tears. "Why are you keeping her away from me? She told me the truth! She told me you loved Gwen more because you adopted her!"
"Silas, no!" Joe pleaded, his voice cracking with agony. "That's not what happened—"
"He's lying to you, Silas," Brenda interrupted, pointing a manicured finger at Joe. "Ask him who your real father is, Silas. Ask him why he lied to you for twelve years. He's not your real dad. He stole you from me!"
"Shut up!" Joe roared, lunging forward, but Brenda nimbly stepped back onto the public asphalt.
In the distance, the wail of police sirens tore through the quiet morning air.
Silas looked back and forth between Joe—red-faced, shaking, and desperate—and the polished woman offering him an escape from the guilt that had been eating him alive since yesterday afternoon.
"Silas, please," I called out from the porch. "Don't listen to her."
Silas looked at me, then at Joe, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
"You all lied to me," Silas sobbed. "You made me feel like garbage for what I did to Gwen... but you're all fakes! All of you!"
The police sirens grew deafeningly loud.
Brenda gave Silas a quick, conspiratorial wink. "I’ll see you soon, baby. Mommy is coming to take you home."
May you like
She slipped into her sedan, slammed the door, and jammed the car into reverse just as two Madison police cruisers swung around the corner, red and blue lights flashing against the suburban trees.
***
