THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
Nathaniel woke up to the sound of hammers.
It was still early—barely 7 a.m.—but downstairs, something was being torn apart. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, two men in uniforms were hauling furniture out of the drawing room.
Their mother’s piano.
The antique shelf she loved.
The ivory-framed mirror she used to check their uniforms in every Sunday before church.
Gone.
Alina stood near the fireplace, clipboard in hand, directing them like an orchestra conductor.
“What the hell is this?” Nathaniel snapped.
She turned, feigning surprise. “Oh, good morning. You’re up early.”
“You’re gutting the house.”
“I’m updating it,” she corrected. “This room hasn’t changed in a decade. It's time it reflected who we are now.”
He stepped forward, blocking the movers from taking the last item—a small bronze sculpture of their mother’s favorite bird, a hummingbird in mid-flight.
She used to say it reminded her of freedom.
“You’re not taking this.”
Alina looked at him, long and cold. “That’s not your decision.”
Nathaniel gripped the base tightly. “It’s not yours either.”
Before she could reply, Dominic appeared behind them, briefcase in hand, coat half on.
“Alina, what’s going on?”
She turned, her tone immediately softened. “I was going to talk to you about it this morning. I thought a fresh look might help lift the atmosphere around here. Everything still feels so… heavy.”
Dominic rubbed his eyes. “Maybe. But this seems… fast.”
“I’m just trying to help the kids move forward.”
Nathaniel’s voice cut in sharp. “You’re not helping us. You’re replacing her.”
Dominic froze.
Alina didn’t.
She stepped toward Nathaniel and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“I’m not replacing your mother,” she said quietly. “I’m building something new. For all of us. And I hope someday you’ll stop punishing the rest of us for still being alive.”
She let the words hang in the air.
Then walked away.
Dominic didn’t stop her.
He just stood there.
That night, Nathaniel opened Sophie’s toy chest.
Buried under dolls and sketchbooks was the old photo album—the one Alina had said was “too dusty” and “not good for Sophie’s healing.”
He flipped through it for hours. Photos of birthdays. Beach trips. Hospital rooms. Their mother’s smile. Sophie’s gap-toothed grin. Dominic laughing in ways he no longer did.
Nathaniel stopped on one photo.
Their mother, kneeling in the garden with a trowel, her fingers stained with soil, the same hummingbird sculpture resting on a bench behind her.
That photo would become his anchor.
The truth he could hold when lies began to feel real.
The next day, he went to the attic and pulled out the old camera their mother had used.
It still worked.
He began documenting things. Quiet things.
Photos of Sophie’s drawings missing their mother.
Notes Alina left that contradicted things she’d said aloud.
Changes in the decor, day by day, item by item.
Every photo dated. Every moment captured.
Evidence.
If Dominic couldn’t believe feelings, maybe he’d believe proof.
Sophie helped.
She didn’t say much, but she started collecting little things—drawings Alina threw away, broken toys replaced with newer, shinier ones.
And at night, she asked questions Nathaniel had been too afraid to ask himself:
“What if she never loved Daddy?”
“What if she just wanted the house?”
“What if she makes him forget us next?”
He had no answers.
But for once, they were asking together.
At dinner a few nights later, Alina made an announcement:
“I’m organizing a gala.”
Dominic looked up. “A what?”
“A charity event. Here. At the house. For the children’s foundation I told you about.”
Nathaniel blinked.
Their house?
She was opening their home—their mother’s home—to strangers?
She smiled sweetly. “It’ll be elegant. A new beginning for us all.”
Nathaniel didn’t speak.
But his jaw tightened.
And in his mind, something shifted.
This wasn’t about damage anymore.
It was about taking everything.
And he wasn’t going to let her.
It was still early—barely 7 a.m.—but downstairs, something was being torn apart. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, two men in uniforms were hauling furniture out of the drawing room.
Their mother’s piano.
The antique shelf she loved.
The ivory-framed mirror she used to check their uniforms in every Sunday before church.
Gone.
Alina stood near the fireplace, clipboard in hand, directing them like an orchestra conductor.
“What the hell is this?” Nathaniel snapped.
She turned, feigning surprise. “Oh, good morning. You’re up early.”
“You’re gutting the house.”
“I’m updating it,” she corrected. “This room hasn’t changed in a decade. It's time it reflected who we are now.”
He stepped forward, blocking the movers from taking the last item—a small bronze sculpture of their mother’s favorite bird, a hummingbird in mid-flight.
She used to say it reminded her of freedom.
“You’re not taking this.”
Alina looked at him, long and cold. “That’s not your decision.”
Nathaniel gripped the base tightly. “It’s not yours either.”
Before she could reply, Dominic appeared behind them, briefcase in hand, coat half on.
“Alina, what’s going on?”
She turned, her tone immediately softened. “I was going to talk to you about it this morning. I thought a fresh look might help lift the atmosphere around here. Everything still feels so… heavy.”
Dominic rubbed his eyes. “Maybe. But this seems… fast.”
“I’m just trying to help the kids move forward.”
Nathaniel’s voice cut in sharp. “You’re not helping us. You’re replacing her.”
Dominic froze.
Alina didn’t.
She stepped toward Nathaniel and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“I’m not replacing your mother,” she said quietly. “I’m building something new. For all of us. And I hope someday you’ll stop punishing the rest of us for still being alive.”
She let the words hang in the air.
Then walked away.
Dominic didn’t stop her.
He just stood there.
That night, Nathaniel opened Sophie’s toy chest.
Buried under dolls and sketchbooks was the old photo album—the one Alina had said was “too dusty” and “not good for Sophie’s healing.”
He flipped through it for hours. Photos of birthdays. Beach trips. Hospital rooms. Their mother’s smile. Sophie’s gap-toothed grin. Dominic laughing in ways he no longer did.
Nathaniel stopped on one photo.
Their mother, kneeling in the garden with a trowel, her fingers stained with soil, the same hummingbird sculpture resting on a bench behind her.
That photo would become his anchor.
The truth he could hold when lies began to feel real.
The next day, he went to the attic and pulled out the old camera their mother had used.
It still worked.
He began documenting things. Quiet things.
Photos of Sophie’s drawings missing their mother.
Notes Alina left that contradicted things she’d said aloud.
Changes in the decor, day by day, item by item.
Every photo dated. Every moment captured.
Evidence.
If Dominic couldn’t believe feelings, maybe he’d believe proof.
Sophie helped.
She didn’t say much, but she started collecting little things—drawings Alina threw away, broken toys replaced with newer, shinier ones.
And at night, she asked questions Nathaniel had been too afraid to ask himself:
“What if she never loved Daddy?”
“What if she just wanted the house?”
“What if she makes him forget us next?”
He had no answers.
But for once, they were asking together.
At dinner a few nights later, Alina made an announcement:
“I’m organizing a gala.”
Dominic looked up. “A what?”
“A charity event. Here. At the house. For the children’s foundation I told you about.”
Nathaniel blinked.
Their house?
She was opening their home—their mother’s home—to strangers?
She smiled sweetly. “It’ll be elegant. A new beginning for us all.”
Nathaniel didn’t speak.
But his jaw tightened.
And in his mind, something shifted.
This wasn’t about damage anymore.
It was about taking everything.
And he wasn’t going to let her.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.