The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 312

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A thick Manila envelope, addressed in Catherine’s distinctive handwriting: “Trust Documents- Alexander and Ethan Williams.” Her handwriting had always been elegant.

I almost ripped open the folder. Notarized signatures sprawled across designated lines in various shades of black and blue ink, and the letterhead of a well–known financial institution.

The trust fund Catherine had established for the two boys was enormous. I realized with shame that I hadn’t read it carefully at the time Catherine had first presented these documents to me.

This was a standard arrangement made by affluent families to ensure the financial security of their heirs. I forced myself to continue searching, papers crackling as I sifted through them.

This wasn’t what I was looking for.

I kept flipping through the scattered documents until I came across a certified letter from a law firm I didn’t recognize, still sealed in its original envelope. The return address was embossed in understated gold lettering: “Blackwood, Sterling & Partners–Estate Administration and Probate

Services.

The postmark date showed it had been sent twenty–three months ago.

I stared at the envelope for several seconds before open it, the way someone might stare at a snake before deciding whether to run or stand still. My fingers were clumsy as I tore along the seal.

“Dear Mrs. Williams,” the letter began, “We regret to inform you that Ms. Catherine Elizabeth Branson passed away on December 15th of last year. As the legal beneficiary of the minor children listed in Ms. Branson’s estate, you are entitled to receive documents regarding the distribution of assets and the management of various trust funds established for their benefit…”

My vision began to blur, the words swimming. Catherine was dead?

I remembered the last time I saw Catherine four years ago. She was healthy, elegant, and composed

as always. There had been no hint of illness.

Catherine had always been kind to me, even when kindness wasn’t required. I’d been nothing more than her son’s contract wife. During the years of my marriage to Kyle, she and Mrs. Chen were the only ones who’d treated me like family.

I drove to Catherine’s former home through streets that seemed newly foreign, as if the landscape had rearranged itself during these months. Those days when Kyle and I would come here for Sunday dinners felt like someone else’s memories now. I remembered her rose garden, where she had once comforted me many times. She’d guided me to a stone bench surrounded by climbing roses there.

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Chapter 312 Regret to inform

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And now, Catherine had left without me knowing, slipped away from the world. Damn it. I wiped away tears that felt hot against my cold cheeks. She had always been a good mother–in–law.

Through the familiar tree–lined streets where expensive cars dozed in circular driveways and gardeners tended landscapes that looked like magazine spreads, I truly regretted not investigating Catherine’s absence sooner. I should have demanded explanations for her silence.

I should have asked the difficult questions.

Catherine’s house looked exactly as it always had from the outside, its Georgian Colonial facade wearing dignity like a well–tailored coat. The yard was still neatly maintained, hedges trimmed with geometric precision, the driveway swept clean of leaves. Her pride and joy, the garden, was still in bloom–late summer roses cascading over trellises she’d positioned to catch the morning light. Someone was clearly tending to the property.

I got out of the car and approached the house. All the windows were covered with curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun, creating an expression of permanent sleep across the house’s face.

Someone was maintaining the property, but Catherine was definitely gone. She had loved that morning room facing the garden, always filled with sunlight. She’d sit there with her coffee watching birds visit the feeders she’d positioned strategically throughout the garden.

I rang the doorbell, not expecting anyone to answer, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty rooms I imagined stretched beyond the heavy front door. The chime had always been melodic.

Tears streamed down my face as I stood on the front porch. What about her funeral? Why hadn’t anyone told me?

I took a few steps back from the door, my vision blurred with tears, and accidentally twisted my ankle on the uneven brick pathway Catherine had always meant to have repaired.

The pain shot up my leg, and I just stumbled backward, arms windmilling as I fought to regain my balance.

Until a hand caught me, strong fingers wrapping around my elbow with familiar precision.

I saw it was Kyle.

“Don’t touch me!” I pushed his hand away with violent force. “Don’t touch me!”

He stood before me looking terrible. The sight of Kyle’s blood–matted hair should have alarmed me. Blood dripped from the ends of his hair where it hung over his forehead. He had a wound on his head that looked fresh.

Kyle’s hand hovered in the space between us, suspended.

“Mia, you’re hurt—”

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