Chapter 6 - WYATT’S RECEIPTS
Brandon answered my call on the second ring.
“I didn’t keep the money.”
No greeting.
Apparently he knew.
“How?”
“Daphne called me screaming because your dad confronted her.”
Efficient family communication.
“What was the eight thousand for?”
“Ask her.”
“I am asking you.”
Silence.
Then:
“She wanted me to leave town.”
I closed my eyes.
Lucas sat across from me at the kitchen table.
Dad remained nearby.
Mom had gone home after our financial conversation, saying she needed space.
For once, nobody chased her.
Brandon continued.
“She sent eight thousand and told me it was for a project in Nashville.”
“What project?”
“None.”
“Did you know what she really wanted?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“To disappear until after the baby was born.”
Dad swore.
I had rarely heard him swear.
Brandon said:
“I sent it back.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I told Daphne she was insane.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“I was ashamed.”
Fair.
“I slept with a married woman.”
Also fair.
“And part of me still cared about her.”
That complicated things.
“She told me Wyatt was controlling.”
“Was he?”
“Not from what I can tell now.”
“What did she mean?”
“He asked where money went.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
“He wanted budgets.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t like her quitting jobs without a plan.”
“Yes.”
“So she called him controlling.”
Brandon’s voice sounded bitter.
“I believed her because I wanted to.”
There it was.
People often accept the version of truth that pays them emotionally.
“What happened to the eight thousand?”
“I returned it two days later.”
“Dad?”
My father checked the bank record on his laptop.
Then nodded.
“Returned.”
That mattered.
Brandon had behaved badly.
But not every bad person in one part of a story was bad everywhere.
“Anything else?” I asked.
Long pause.
“Yes.”
Of course.
“She asked me for a paternity test before the wedding.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Lucas leaned forward.
Dad looked up sharply.
Brandon continued.
“She wanted me to use one of those private testing companies.”
“When?”
“Nine days before the wedding.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I told her Wyatt needed to know first.”
My stomach turned.
Daphne did not merely understand uncertainty.
She actively tried to determine paternity in secret.
“Do you have messages?”
“Yes.”
“Send them.”
He did.
They arrived immediately.
Daphne:
I need to know before Saturday.
Brandon:
Then tell Wyatt.
Daphne:
I can’t blow up my marriage if there’s nothing to blow up.
Brandon:
There is already something to blow up. You slept with me.
Daphne:
Don’t do that.
Then:
Just take the test.
Brandon:
No.
Daphne:
Why are you making this harder?
I stared at that sentence.
Why are you making this harder?
Same words Mom used with me.
Same structure.
When somebody refused to make Daphne’s chosen path easier, she treated their refusal as harm.
I sent screenshots to Wyatt.
Then immediately regretted involving myself.
But he deserved evidence connected to his marriage.
He responded ten minutes later.
Thank you. I’m meeting an attorney tomorrow.
The next day, Wyatt came to our apartment.
He carried a banker’s box.
“Receipts.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow.
“You brought actual receipts?”
Wyatt almost smiled.
“I married a woman who hates budgeting. I became religious about documentation.”
We sat.
The box contained credit-card statements.
Transfers.
Emails.
Loan applications.
Daphne had opened two credit cards Wyatt did not know about.
Debt:
Thirty-seven thousand.
She had also borrowed twelve thousand from a friend.
Used part of my parents’ money to cover minimum payments.
Then repeatedly told Wyatt their financial problems came from his insistence on renovating the house.
“She told us you wanted the renovation,” I said.
Wyatt laughed.
“She wanted the renovation.”
“Why did you agree?”
“I loved my wife.”
Simple.
Dangerous.
He pulled out another statement.
“Here.”
A hotel charge.
May twenty-seventh.
The night Daphne first slept with Brandon.
Then another hotel charge two weeks later.
Different location.
“What is that?”
Wyatt looked sick.
“I don’t know.”
Brandon said their second time was at his apartment.
So who was the hotel?
I felt my stomach turn.
“Please tell me there isn’t another man.”
“I don’t know.”
Wyatt had contacted the hotel.
Could not get details without legal process.
Daphne claimed she had attended a work retreat.
She had already quit her job by then.
The lie was obvious.
I wanted to stop.
This was becoming voyeuristic.
Pain turned into investigation.
Every secret found created hunger for another.
I looked at Wyatt.
“You need an attorney, not me.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Then why bring this?”
He hesitated.
“Because your parents keep calling me.”
My jaw tightened.
“What do they want?”
“Your mother wants me to reconsider separation.”
Of course.
“She says Daphne is unstable because of hormones.”
Lucas muttered:
“Pregnancy has become the family’s legal department.”
Wyatt almost laughed.
Then:
“Your dad called once.”
“What did he say?”
“Apologized.”
That sounded like Dad.
“And said he would respect whatever I decide.”
Good.
Wyatt looked at me.
“I’m not asking you to take sides.”
“Good.”
“I just need you to know I’m not leaving because the baby isn’t mine.”
His eyes filled.
“I’m leaving because she built a life where I was the last person allowed to know what was happening inside my own marriage.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Not the affair alone.
Not paternity.
Exclusion.
Manipulation.
A relationship cannot survive when one person becomes the only person denied reality.
I thought of my own family.
How often information had traveled around me because everyone feared my reaction less than Daphne’s.
Different scale.
Same injury.
Then Wyatt pulled out one last paper.
A reservation.
Willowridge Estate.
My wedding venue.
Booked under Daphne’s name.
For four months from now.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“Gender-reveal party.”
My mouth fell open.
“When did she book it?”
“Two days before your wedding.”
Lucas actually stood.
“No.”
Wyatt laughed bitterly.
“She paid a deposit.”
I looked at the date.
Before the pregnancy announcement cake.
Before Brandon walked in.
Before paternity.
She had already planned the next celebration.
At my wedding venue.
Four months later.
I should have been furious.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
“She really thought everything would work.”
Wyatt nodded.
“She always does.”
I looked at the reservation.
Then at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“She doesn’t always think everything will work.”
Understanding arrived slowly.
“She thinks everyone else will make it work.”
Silence.
That was different.
More accurate.
The next family dinner would prove it.
Because Mom invited all of us to her house three days later.
Subject line:
WE NEED TO HEAL AS A FAMILY.
Lucas read it.
Then looked at me.
“Should we bring helmets?”
“Probably.”
I almost declined.
Then Dad called.
“Please come.”
“Why?”
His voice sounded tired.
“Because I think your mother still believes healing means getting everyone back into the old positions.”
My chest tightened.
“And you?”
May you like
“I think the old positions are the problem.”
For the first time, I agreed to a family dinner because I believed somebody might finally be ready to tell the truth.
