But Lewis? He just blinked, stunned and silent, as the world changed around him.
I was days—hours, even—from signing the final documents when the letter arrived.
Plain white envelope. No return address. Just my name in shaky, slanted handwriting. I wouldn’t have given it a second glance if it hadn’t been for one line scrawled across a single sheet of paper:
“Do NOT trust Lewis. He’s not who you think he is. Check the prison records, Huntsville, 2012.”
My heart skipped. My hands, steady even at ninety, trembled as I folded the paper back up.
I didn’t want it to be true. But I had to know.
“Dig into it,” I told my lawyer the next morning. “Quietly. Don’t let him catch wind.”
By evening, I had the answer.
At age 19,. Lewis was arrested for grand theft auto. Spent eighteen months behind bars.
A wave of anger, confusion, and betrayal hit me like a freight train. I’d finally found someone who passed every test—and now this?
