I remember that day so clearly. I heard strange noises coming from my mother�s quarters and went to check on her. She was wearing her wedding dress backwards, clumsily trying to do up what must have been hundreds of tiny buttons. In the process, she was streaking her still wet red nail polish all over a dress that was surely worth more money than I would ever see. Half of her ever-perfect hair was pinned up in what may have been supposed to look like a French twist, and the rest was limply falling around her shoulders in wispy locks. Strewn around the room, were large chunks of the remaining hair, which she had clownishly chopped wherever the spirit moved her. Her features were distorted with the makeup she had childishly covered her face. One eye was smeared with blue, the other with purple. Mascara was fairly dripping from her nose, and her lips were an exaggerated red mess across her face. She didn�t even know I was there, and she never again spoke, or appeared to recognize anyone after that day.
Not too long after that, maybe a year, maybe less, her ex-husband, someone I would never refer to as �Father� sent notice that he now had two families to support, and would be sending Mother less money. For a time, we made do, but soon it was clear we would have to let the servants go and sell the house.
Our new house was in a deplorable neighborhood, ratty and rundown. Despite the comforts of which we had become accustomed, Mother didn�t seem to notice we were living in squalor. I don�t think she noticed anything, trapped as she was in her pitiful existence. I spent the rest of my childhood making sure Mother was safe, and kept with me. I vowed, someday, no matter what, I would wield my revenge on this man, whom she called Husband. He was the one who had done this to my mother without a care, without a glance back. My calls to him for help went unheeded, unanswered and unnoticed. Never once did he return phone calls, or letters. The only acknowledgement that came was the monthly pittance he still allowed us. The injustice and bitterness of it all consumed me, covered me like a dark shroud, and kept me awake at night plotting his undoing.
Just before my seventeenth birthday, we received notice that my father had died two months prior. We would still be given a monthly sum, which was barely more than we had lived on all these years. He had made sure there was enough money for Mother to be sent somewhere �to be cared for� and my college education was completely covered. Everything else, the business, the property, the stocks, bonds, investments, everything, went to �the surviving male heir�. I was so full of righteous indignation my blood cooled and then ran hot. I told my mother he had died, and she smiled her ghastly smile at me as one tear ran down her cheek. Then she was gone again.
After finding out my dear half brother�s whereabouts as well as his college plans, I enrolled in the same school. I knew his name, and had a vague knowledge of his appearance because of an old newspaper photograph. During those years, I kept a close yet distant notice of him, and chose to bide my time carefully. I have to admit I was more than a bit too cautious during those years, but maybe it was because I was trying to convince myself that my main focus should be my studies. He graduated the year before me, and our lives� went different directions.
After several years, our paths� crossed in a far better way than I could ever have imagined. One of my sorority sisters contacted me out of the blue and we picked up right where we had left off so long ago. My interest in our friendship progressed quickly as soon as I discovered she was the wife of my half brother. Fortune was surely smiling on me that day.
Five years into our relationship, as far as Sarah knew, we were the best of friends. I was her most trusted confidant, and we did everything together. It was during that time, I half wondered if I should forget about fashion design and become an actress. Some days, I could hardly keep from bursting into laughter during my performances with Sarah. What Sarah lacked in security and stability, she made up for in kindness, making her one major downfall her fire hot temper. This made Sarah the perfect participant in the cat and mouse game to come.
Six months ago, I received notice from a young woman who happened to be looking for her father. She located me first, as the last known address for him was outdated. She was my half brother�s daughter, conceived during a weak moment of passion in his younger years. The call came as such a shock to me, that I needed time to think before I told her anything. This could work out very well indeed for me; I just didn�t know how yet and couldn�t chance the fact that if I met her, she would be able to identify me. Sarah�s husband, Michael, only knew me as his wife�s best friend and hadn�t a clue I was his half sister. So, I asked Molly Wheaton to call me the following day when I could devote more time to her. She agreed.
I was up half the night trying to figure out a way to dodge young Molly, and finally came to the conclusion that I would just have to tell her that her father and I didn�t exactly see eye to eye. While I knew his whereabouts, we were certainly not a close knit family, and I had no desire to return as the prodigal sister with a daughter he may not even know existed in tow. However, I would be glad to let her know how to contact him, but she must never reveal the truth of how she discovered him. Complacent girl that she was, again, she agreed.
I heard from her once more after that, a couple of weeks later. Molly had indeed contacted her father; he was delighted to hear from her, had met several times and were beginning a wonderfully authentic father-daughter relationship. She just wanted to thank me for my help and assure me she wouldn�t tell her father how she had come into contact with him.
For the past four months, Sarah has become increasingly agitated because Michael has been spending so much time away from her. He tells her he�s working, and she won�t even consider another possibility - that he�s cheating - no matter how many seeds I plant. Finally, I had had enough of her pissing and moaning, and decided if what had fallen so easily into my lap was going to work, I was going to have to make it work. I told her enough was enough. He was taking advantage of her and something had to be done. Sarah finally saw the light, and agreed to hire a private detective. By an odd chance of fate, I just happened to have the card of the very reputable detective Devon Matthews in my pocketbook.