Page 5 of Secret Triplets for Christmas

"You know me. I'm going to use the evening to start planning a new proposal for a client I really want to get."

"I was really hoping you were going to say you're going on a date."

"You have to stop thinking that." I never dated, much to Mira's consternation. But aside from the fact that I was too tired and had too many responsibilities to date was the fact that I was certain there was no man out there who would want to take on me and three kids. Don't get me wrong, my girls are awesome, but raising them was a bit like herding cats.

"At least you could tell me that you're going to drink wine and watch romcoms or something."

I laughed. "It's quite possible that's on the agenda for later."

The rest of the day was pretty straightforward. I met with my team and worked on the overall creative design of our marketing campaigns. I was fortunate that I had great graphic designers and copywriters working with me. This might not have been my dream job, but the work environment was positive, which made it worthwhile. That and the good salary I made.

After work, I headed home, making a stop at the grocery store for wine and ice cream. Mira was right. I deserved a little pampering once I finished my work.

I arrived home, a basic little bungalow in a nice, established neighborhood. I'd been able to buy the home last year, all on my own, despite the fact that my father kept indicating he'd help me buy one. The house wasn’t huge, but it had three bedrooms—one for me, one for the girls, and a third used as a playroom. It was cozy, warm, and inviting, with a large yard for them to play in and kids in the neighborhood.

Like me, most families in the neighborhood worked during the day, and we all began arriving home around the same time, waving as we passed each other on the road or calling out a hello when we got out of our car.

I pulled my car into the garage, closing the door behind me and then heading to the door that entered the mudroom off the kitchen. I unlocked it and stepped in. An unsettled tingle ran down my spine. For a moment I stopped, my breath held as the sensation of déjà vu overtook me. It was only then I realized that all the items in my mudroom were strewn about. Every bin, the laundry, all of it.

Like an idiot, I moved into the kitchen, where all the cupboards and drawers were open and glasses were shattered on the floor. I looked beyond the kitchen into my living area and noted it too was in shambles. Sofa cushions were on the floor, the foam spilling out as if they'd been cut.

Slowly, I backed out the door and into the garage. I hurried to my car, locking myself in, and started hyperventilating. What was happening? All I could think about was Liam dead in my bedroom, which made no sense.

I poked the button to open the garage door and backed out and parked along the street. I don't know why that made me feel safer, but it did. I pulled out my phone and called 911.

2

Oliver

"You’re a real-life rags to riches story. A Horatio Alger. What's that like?"

I looked at the interviewer from the entrepreneurial magazine and mustered a smile, not because I was happy but because thinking of my past only brought pain. No amount of success and wealth soothed it. How did one go about healing a childhood filled with abuse and chaos?

I'd been fortunate to have learned at a young age to keep my head down and indulge my interest in knowledge, especially around computing, two things that often got me bullied and beaten up, sometimes by my own dad. I suppose that was what ultimately led to my success, but what really saved me was my younger brother, Liam.

When I was eight and he was four, we were sent to our first foster home. The family was all right, but they had other foster children who made sure we knew who the true boss of the house was.

That was when I first determined I needed to protect Liam, a role that I took on practically to the exclusion of everything else. I was the one who helped him with homework and made sure he graduated from high school to keep him from following our foster siblings into a life of crime. He was so smart, and between a scholarship, government money that helped foster kids get an education, and my working my ass off, he was able to go to college. While I graduated from high school, I skipped college to work and watch out for my younger brother.

And it was going so well… until it didn't. Liam always had stars in his eyes, always wanted wealth and power, and I guess he got tired of trying to earn it the honest way. No matter what I did, or what his girlfriend Lindsay did, we weren't able to stop him. And now, he was dead.

Not only had I failed him, but not long after his death, I slept with Lindsay.

Just thinking about it now made me sick. It didn't matter that I'd been in love with her. Hell, I'd fallen for her practically the moment I met her. It didn't matter that by the time Liam died, she'd broken off with him and cut him out of her life, just as she should have, based on his behavior.

All that mattered was that she had belonged to him. Liam, for all his faults, did love her. She was the only reason he made attempts, feeble as they were, to leave the bad elements behind. He’d failed, but that didn’t mean I had any right to Lindsay. She might have been done with him, but he loved her until he died, and I'd betrayed him by taking something that was his.

I gave my head a quick shake to rid it of the past. This was exactly why I didn't like doing interviews. I'd left Boston five years ago with a plan to never look back. There was nothing there except pain and guilt. In California, I rebuilt my life. The first year here, I worked for a tech company and reinvented myself, at least on the outside. The truth was, no matter how expensive my haircut or my clothes, deep down, I was still that scrappy nerd from Boston.

This discussion wasn't therapy, not that I had tried therapy. This was an interview, so I was going to give him the story that he wanted, the story that wasn't a lie but also wasn't the whole truth.

I gave a small shrug with my attempt of an affable smile. "I've been very lucky."

The interviewer cocked his head to the side. "Surely, you don't attribute all your success to luck?"

I shook my head. "No. I worked hard. But no one gets to where I am without the involvement of others. I was blessed to have great opportunities and mentors along the way."

"Do you suppose your past had any influence on your drive or your work ethic? Has the loss of your brother, whose murder has never been solved, had any influence?”

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