Chapter 3: Pawn on the Board

To make the marriage work, David Harris suggested I marry in her place. "Ava and Natalie look somewhat alike. If Mr. Porter recognizes her as a foster daughter, outsiders will have nothing to say."

His words sounded offhand, but the weight of them crushed me. I realized my future was being traded in back rooms, my life shuffled like a pawn on a chessboard.

With a single line, he would have me bury half my life.

I’d planned to refuse, but Mrs. Porter held my debts and history over my head, her voice honeyed and sharp. There was no arguing with her once she’d made up her mind.

Resistance was pointless, so I agreed—but only after making two requests. I stood tall, hands trembling, and named my terms: my freedom, and a dowry equal to Natalie’s. I refused to be sent off as some bargain-bin stand-in.

Mr. Porter agreed. His lips pressed thin, as if he wanted to say something but swallowed it back. Guilt? Maybe. Or maybe he was just relieved.

I didn’t look at him again.

After that day, I became Ava Porter, Ethan Caldwell’s fiancée. Jenny helped me practice my new signature in the back pantry, our laughter muffled by the washing machine. The name tasted foreign, like a secret that didn’t quite fit.

From the moment I agreed to marry into the Caldwell estate, I found out everything I could. The Caldwell mansion was a fortress of old brick, set back from the road, the lawn always perfect. Neighbors eyed it with suspicion and envy.

There was another reason Natalie refused to marry in. She’d whispered it to me once, hands twisting in her lap: “It’s not just Ethan’s illness. There’s something off about that place.”

The Caldwell estate housed a wolf—Ethan’s uncle. When the patriarch died, he divided the property: Ethan’s father became a county judge, the uncle inherited the family business and made a fortune. At Thanksgiving, they barely spoke—a rivalry just beneath the surface.

But the uncle’s sons were hopeless. The business nearly collapsed, and people at the country club laughed behind their backs. The second branch of the family watched the main branch hungrily, waiting for Ethan to die so they could swoop in.

My only way to survive was to have Ethan’s child before he died. In Ohio, a child meant everything—a name, a place, a reason for the family to keep you around.

When I reached for Ethan’s tie, he avoided me, leaning back. Maybe he sensed my nerves.

"Wife must be tired today. Rest early." He took the comforter and sat on the pull-out couch, the room feeling bigger with him so far away.

He shot me down, no hesitation. My cheeks burned as I hugged my knees under the covers, wishing I could disappear.

Could his illness be that severe? Had he lost that ability?

I tossed and turned, the grandfather clock in the hall ticking off the endless hours. The bells on my ankle jingled with every restless move.

The next day, Jenny helped me get ready. She set a steaming mug of coffee beside me, grinning: "Miss, even on your wedding night you should show some restraint."

I pulled her close and whispered, "Jenny, do you know how a woman can get pregnant early?"

Jenny blushed. "How would I know? But maybe I can ask around. My aunt knows all the old wives’ tales."

I squeezed her hand. "Be discreet. Don’t let it get out."

She nodded, serious now. "Cross my heart."

A commotion came from the backyard—a car door slammed, voices rising. I peeked through the curtains. A girl in pink stood under the maple tree, demanding to see me. The housekeeper, Mrs. Green, said it was Emily Walker, Caldwell’s aunt’s niece—staying at the Caldwell residence, always mooning over Ethan before he fell ill.

The way she clung to him at family barbecues, laughing too loud at his jokes, made her feelings obvious to everyone except maybe Ethan.