HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 38: Into the Lion's Den

I head to work the next morning with a heavy heart. Even though Mr. Carter and Chris are away for the weekend, I still have my duties at the country club. With my new job starting soon, it feels right to print out my resignation letter and leave it on Mr. Carter's desk for him to find on Monday.

I wish I could discuss it with him in person, but I don't want to ruin his vacation by calling him now. I just hope he'll understand when he returns. In my note, I mention that I'm still available to cover shifts on weekends if needed. Maintaining these connections can't hurt, and a little extra income wouldn't either.

After work, I spend the afternoon with my daughters. They help me pick out a dress and earrings for dinner that evening.

"Are you girls disappointed that you're not coming?" I ask. "I'm sure Grandma would love to have you there if I asked."

"No," they reply in unison.

"No offense, Mom," Iris, my oldest, says, "but those dinners are always so uptight."

I get it. My adoptive parents do prefer a formal dinner over anything casual, which is why I'm dressed up in the first place. I can understand the girls' reluctance.

Before leaving, I hug them tightly.

"Good luck," Iris says, and I can't help but think I'm going to need it.

When I arrive at the Owens estate, I'm greeted by the family's butler. What catches me off guard is that my mother doesn't rush out to greet me, as she usually does. Even Davis, the butler, seems surprised as he opens the door wider.

"They're in the sitting room," Davis says. "Would you like me to escort you?" It's clear even he finds the change unsettling.

"No, thank you. I know the way," I reply.

Davis nods with visible relief. "My pleasure, Rafha."

I make my way to the sitting room, where my mother, father, aunt, and uncle are already seated.

"You were almost late," my father says, checking his pocket watch.

I'm five minutes early, but I bite my tongue. My father is obsessive about punctuality—anything less than fifteen minutes early is considered late.

"I was visiting with the girls," I explain.

"You must miss them," my aunt says, watching my mother's reaction as she speaks. "Since you moved out."

"Kicked out is more like it," my mother snaps.

Her words startle me. "I left because—"

"Enough," my father interrupts. "Did we teach you to talk back to family?"

"No, sir," I reply, instantly feeling like a little girl again. At five years old, fresh out of foster care, I just wanted these people to love me.

They did. They still do. But it's clear they're furious with me now. What I don't understand is why. They never particularly liked Samuel and always thought I was settling by being with him. Now, when I've finally taken a stand after being cheated on and discarded, they want me to stay with him? That doesn't add up.

Something else is going on, and I need to figure out what it is—but I have to do it on their terms.

"Come, Rafha," my father says, gesturing toward a lone chair at the end of the couches. I sit, and all eyes are on me.

"I've heard you started working at the country club," my aunt says with a strained smile. Bless her—she's always been in my corner, trying to be kind even when everyone else is harsh.

"Yes, though—"

"Once again under-utilizing your skills," my father interjects. "Your mother and I didn't put you through college so you could be some assistant to Mr. Carter."

"I'm making good connections," I say, hoping that might appeal to him. "There are a lot of high-ranking members at the club. I see them so often, many know me on a first-name basis now."

"Now is not the time to be making connections," he replies, surprising me. He usually believes every interaction is an opportunity to network. What's different about this?

I'm confused. Why doesn't he see this as the opportunity I do? Maybe if I tell him about Hugo, he'll understand.

"Actually, Father, I've made a connection that I think you'll be proud of. It's led to something wonderful, and I—"

"Your father won't be proud of you," my mother cuts in. "Not after what you've done to shame this family."

"Ethel," my aunt says, trying to intercede.

"Stay out of this, Barbara," my mother snaps, brushing off even my aunt's attempt to reason with her.

"Everyone makes mistakes," my aunt says softly.

"This was more than a mistake," my mother replies coldly.

"Wait," I interject, my voice shaking. "What exactly am I being accused of?"

If anyone is at fault in my marriage, it's Samuel. Are they seriously blaming me for his infidelity? That doesn't sound like them. They should be proud that I'm finally standing up for myself. There has to be more to this.

"You cheated on your husband, Rafha," my mother says, her voice dripping with disgust. "How dare you make me say this out loud."

"What? I did not!"

"Don't raise your voice to your mother," my father warns.

I struggle to stay calm. "I don't know where you got that idea, but it's not true."

"You cheated," my mother insists, tears welling up as she dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Mother—"

"Then you pushed Samuel away when he tried to stay and work things out," she continues. "Think of the children, Rafha. Samuel may be a worm, but what are you doing to them?"

"None of that is true," I plead. "You have to believe me. I don't know what lies Samuel has been feeding you, but—"

"We didn't hear this from Samuel," my father says. "We wouldn't trust a word that man says without confirmation."

"Then who?" I ask, desperate for answers.

"Me," says Kaylee, now standing in the doorway. "You don't have to pretend anymore, Hazel. I've told Mom and Dad everything you've confided in me. They know it all."

"Kaylee?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep your secrets," Kaylee says with a pitying smile. "But this was too big to hide."

"You did the right thing," my father tells her.

I freeze, feeling like I've stepped into some alternate reality. This can't be happening.

My sister—the one who is actively cheating with my husband—is blaming it all on me?