“You don’t know that. She was breaking it off with him. She had to have a reason, and I doubt it was you and your brother. His letters make it sound like she wanted out for another reason.”

I read through more of my mother’s letters, hoping to find what Nina said was in fact the truth. I hated thinking she’d given up a chance at real happiness for us. Each one read like the first, some telling him she couldn’t leave because of her children and others simply declarations of love.

“Tristan, did you read this last one of his letters? He wasn’t going to let her go. Do you remember her acting differently or saying anything to indicate she was frightened? He was threatening her. Listen to this.”

He knows, so what’s the point of hiding anymore? I know you still love me. After all these years, I know you do. It can be like it was in the beginning. The boys are older now. They don’t need you like I do. I won’t let you leave me. Not now—not ever.

Nina looked up from the letter. “Do you have any idea when this could have been?”

“No. I never knew about any of this.”

The truth was I had never been the kind of son she deserved. I knew she was unhappy, but I never bothered to consider that something other than my father had caused that sadness in her.

“Can I read the letters in the tin to see if we can figure out what happened?”

I shook the cobwebs of memories from my head. “Sure.” I didn’t want to read any more of the past. The letters had only served to confirm what I’d always believed and shown me it was even worse.

Watching as Nina read letter after letter, I saw her expression change when she reached the last one. “What’s wrong? Is there something in that one?”

Turning to look at me, she shook her head. “I’m not sure. Listen to this.”

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It’s over. Take what he’s given you and be thankful. He means it to be symbolic. That’s why he named it Rider. He’s giving you a company he doesn’t care about to show you that you’ll never have me. Only a company he named after me. Take it and make it yours. I can’t see you again. Accept his gift and know he’ll never forget this. Be careful.

“What does she mean ‘that’s why he named it Rider’? What does that have to do with this?”

My mother’s words hung heavy in the air as I attempted to process what Nina had just read. My mother hadn’t just had an affair. She’d had an affair with my father’s best friend.

Karl.

Nina gently shook me by the shoulder. “Tristan, what does this mean? Who is Rider?”

“Ryder with a y. It was my mother’s maiden name. Tressa Ryder. My father must have changed it to Rider Pharmaceutical when he bought the company before he found out she cheated on him. That he’d give Karl a company with the same name as my mother’s is exactly what she thought. It was supposed to be symbolic. My father would do something like that. Karl could have some company that meant nothing to him, but he couldn’t have the woman that my father didn’t give a damn about.”

“Are you saying your mother was in love with Karl, the guy who wants you and me out of the way?”

I’d been as surprised as Nina was at first, but it all made sense. The holiday dinners when I was a child when Karl would be all smiles as he teased my mother or told her stupid jokes. How sweetly she’d always acted toward him. In my mind’s eye, I could see him then, the far more charming younger man he was instead of the odious bastard he was now.

“I guess so. That’s the only answer since it involved Rider Pharmaceutical.”

“I don’t understand. If he was so in love with your mother, why would he do this to you?”

As Nina returned to searching the trunk for what we were looking for, I tried to reconcile Karl Dreger’s hatred for me with how much he’d loved my mother. It made no sense, no matter how much I wanted to pretend it did.

Chapter Fourteen

Nina

I rummaged through more pictures and mementos as Tristan sat silently next to me, obviously rocked by the news that the man who was busy doing everything possible to make his life a living hell was also the man his mother had loved, even to the point of endangering her own welfare. I found another portrait the family had sat for years later that showed the life Tressa Stone had accepted. In her expression was etched the sadness of a woman who’d chosen to sacrifice her own happiness. Those brown eyes so similar to Tristan’s looked out blankly, even as she smiled for the camera.

Lifting the picture out of the trunk, I propped it up against the lid. “When was this taken? You look like a teenager here.”




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