The bedroom door flew open so violently that it struck the wall.
“Why is your ex on our bed? What is this?”
Marcus stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling, his right hand pointing toward the man sitting comfortably on the dark blue comforter. His face was twisted with anger. His jaw tightened as he looked from the stranger on the bed to the woman standing beside the nightstand.
Danielle froze.
She was wearing a champagne-colored satin pajama set, her long braids falling over her shoulders. Her hands were trembling, and for a moment, she seemed unable to find the words to explain what was happening.
Across the room, sitting on the neatly made bed as though he had every right to be there, was another man.
His name was Andre.
He wore a dark gray T-shirt and black trousers. His hands rested loosely on his knees, and his expression was almost disturbingly calm.
Marcus looked at him again.
“Get off my bed.”
Andre didn't move.
“Marcus,” Danielle interrupted, stepping forward. “Please. Just calm down. We were only talking.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Talking?”
He pointed toward the bed.
“Talking in our bedroom? On our bed? At eleven thirty at night?”
“Don't make this something it isn't,” Danielle pleaded.
“Then tell me what it is!”
Andre finally lifted his eyes.
Marcus turned toward him.
“And you. What exactly do you think you're doing here?”
Andre looked at Danielle before answering.
“I think you should let her explain.”
Marcus took a step forward.
“No. I want you to explain why my girlfriend's ex-boyfriend is sitting on the bed I sleep in every night.”
Danielle moved between them.
“You don't control me, Marcus!”
The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.
For a second, the entire bedroom went silent.
Marcus stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said, her voice shaking but becoming louder. “You don't get to walk into a room and start interrogating me like I'm a child.”
“I'm not interrogating you. I'm asking why your ex is here!”
“And I'm telling you that we were talking!”
“About what?”
Danielle opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Marcus shook his head and stepped backward.
“Unbelievable.”
He looked toward Andre again.
“Five years. Five years I've been with this woman, and you're telling me this is how I find out that you two are still seeing each other?”
Andre slowly leaned forward.
“That's not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
Danielle suddenly stepped closer to Marcus, pointing a finger toward his chest.
“She didn't call me for me.”
Marcus frowned.
“What?”
“She didn't call me because she missed me. She didn't call me because she wanted to get back together. She called because there was something she needed me to know.”
Marcus looked confused, but his anger hadn't disappeared.
“Who called you?”
Before Danielle could answer, Andre stood up.
He was taller than Marcus had expected. He straightened his shirt, took one deliberate step forward, and looked directly into Marcus's eyes.
“The real reason is...”
He paused.
Marcus's expression changed.
For the first time since entering the room, he wasn't sure what he was about to hear.
And whatever Andre was about to reveal had clearly brought all three of them to the same bedroom for a reason.
But none of them was prepared for what would happen next.
Marcus folded his arms.
“Finish the sentence.”
Andre glanced at Danielle. She gave him a small nod, although her eyes were already filling with tears.
“Your mother called her.”
Marcus blinked.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
A strange silence settled over the bedroom.
Marcus let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“My mother has been dead for three years.”
“I know,” Andre replied.
Marcus's face hardened.
“Don't you dare bring my mother into whatever little game you two are playing.”
“I'm not playing a game.”
“Then explain yourself.”
Andre reached into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small, worn envelope.
It was cream-colored, slightly bent at the corners, and sealed with a strip of clear tape. There was handwriting on the front.
Marcus recognized it immediately.
His expression changed.
He knew that handwriting better than he knew his own.
It belonged to Evelyn Reed, his mother.
“What is that?” he whispered.
Andre placed the envelope on the nightstand.
“Your mother left something behind.”
Marcus stared at it.
“That doesn't make any sense.”
“It will.”
Marcus looked at Danielle.
She was crying now, but she wasn't looking at Andre. She was looking at the envelope.
“What did you do?” Marcus asked her.
“Nothing.”
“What did you do with my mother's things?”
“Marcus, please.”
“Did you go through her belongings? Did you steal something?”
Andre's expression finally changed.
“Watch how you speak to her.”
Marcus spun around.
“Stay out of this!”
“I would have stayed out of it if your mother hadn't asked me to help.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Why would my mother ask you for anything?”
Andre took a breath.
“Because she knew you wouldn't listen to anyone else.”
Those words landed harder than Marcus expected.
He looked away.
For a moment, the anger in his face was replaced by something more complicated. His mother had been gone for three years, but the mention of her still had the power to make him feel like a little boy standing in the hallway outside her bedroom.
Evelyn Reed had been the center of his world.