After we ended the call, I immediately turned to my husband. “What do we know about her?” I asked Nathan while we started tidying the house ahead of the weekend. “Where does she come from? What’s her job?”
“Sweets, you heard exactly what I heard,” Nathan replied with a smile. “Maybe he’s just head over heels. Young people fall fast.”
His answer did little to calm my nerves. The next day I called Xavier, hoping to get more details, but his answers remained frustratingly vague. “She’s from around here,” he said, and I could practically hear him smiling. “She’s incredible, Mom. Just wait until you meet her. You’ll find out all you need to know!”
After that conversation, I decided to push my worries aside and focus on preparing for the future. This was a major milestone, after all. Nathan also reminded me of a possible bonus to all this: grandchildren.
So when the weekend finally arrived, I pulled out all the stops. I roasted a chicken, baked a cherry pie, and laid out our nicest dishes.
Nathan even bought expensive steaks. “This is just in case she prefers beef to chicken. First impressions matter, right?”
“Of course, sweets!” I replied. “Wait, do you think I should make another dessert in case she doesn’t like cherry pie?”
We spent the entire morning like that. Nathan even mowed the lawn, though I had no idea how trimmed grass would contribute to dinner. Still, it only added to our excitement.
By the time the doorbell rang, we were practically glowing with anticipation. Judging by Xavier’s reaction when we opened the door, we probably looked slightly unhinged because he actually took a step backward.
“Welcome!” I shouted, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.
Xavier smiled uncertainly and introduced us to Danielle, who stood beside him looking shy, her shoulders slightly hunched and a small smile on her face.
She was petite, with dark hair and large expressive eyes. She was beautiful, honestly, and she looked wonderful next to my son. But her face… I recognized it instantly.
I kept smiling as I welcomed them inside, but internally I was panicking for a very good reason.
Only a few months earlier, my friend Margaret had shown me a photograph of a woman who had scammed her son. He had fallen deeply for her. She convinced him to buy an expensive engagement ring and hand over thousands of dollars supposedly meant for wedding expenses.
Then she vanished without a trace.
Margaret had been devastated and had circulated the photo everywhere she could, hoping someone would recognize the woman responsible. And now that very face appeared to be standing in my living room.
The hair was different—much darker than before—and perhaps she was wearing blue contact lenses. Still, I knew that face.
Everything after that seemed to happen in a blur.
