Chapter 2 - The Envelope
"Wait!"
Teresa’s voice cut through the elegant silence like a siren. The crystal champagne flutes hovered in the air. The string quartet in the corner abruptly stopped playing. Every head in the garden turned toward the patio doors.
Florence lowered her glass, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Teresa, what on earth are you doing? Get back inside. You are embarrassing us in front of our guests."
But Teresa didn’t retreat. For the first time in ten years, she didn't cast her eyes downward. She marched straight toward the banquet table, her apron rustling, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. Raymond stepped forward, his face flushed with sudden anger.
"Are you deaf?" Raymond snapped. "Get back to the kitchen before you're fired."
"You can’t fire me," Teresa said, her voice shaking but her posture defiant. "I quit this morning. But before I leave this house forever, I have something that belongs to you."
She slammed the yellowed envelope down onto the table, right next to the velvet cushion holding the gold ring. The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Brandy shrank back, suddenly looking very small, her eyes darting nervously toward the edge of the garden.
"What is the meaning of this?" Walter demanded, finally standing up from his chair.
"Mrs. Florence has spent the last year torturing Mrs. Brenda because of that boy," Teresa said, pointing directly at the toddler in Brandy’s arms. "She celebrated a DNA test that Mr. Raymond brought home. But Mr. Raymond didn’t get that test done at a clinic. He bought it online. And he never opened the second envelope that came in the mail."
Raymond’s face went chalk-white. "Teresa, shut your mouth."
"Open it," Teresa demanded, looking straight at Walter. "Open it, Mr. Walter."
Walter reached forward with trembling hands. Florence tried to snatch it away, but Walter swatted his wife's hand back. He tore the top of the envelope open and pulled out a stack of medical documents. The letterhead belonged to a prestigious, strictly confidential paternity clinic in Los Angeles.
Walter put on his reading glasses. The garden was so quiet you could hear the distant crash of the ocean waves. As Walter read, the color completely drained from his face. His knees buckled, and he collapsed back into his chair, gasping for air.
"Walter!" Florence shrieked, rushing to his side. "What is it? What does it say?"
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Walter slowly lifted his head. He didn't look at Raymond. He didn't look at Brandy. He looked past them both, locking eyes with Gavin, who was slowly backing away toward the garden gates.
"The boy is not Raymond’s," Walter whispered, his voice cracking with devastation and rage. He threw the papers onto the table. "The boy is Gavin’s. You fools. You absolute fools."
