Chapter 2: The Man Who Knew Too Much
The ambulance took my mother to Regional Medical Center.
I rode beside her, holding her hand while the paramedic checked her blood pressure and examined the cut near her hairline.
The white envelope remained tucked inside her purse.
She refused to let it out of her sight.
"Mom, does your head hurt?""
"A little.""
"Are you dizzy?""
"Not anymore.""
The paramedic, a woman named Elise, glanced at us.
"We'll have the emergency physician evaluate the head injury. She may need imaging, especially given the impact.""
I nodded.
My phone kept vibrating.
Brandon.
Brandon.
Brandon.
Then Patricia.
Then Brandon again.
I finally switched it off.
At the hospital, a nurse led Mom into an examination room. I sat beside her while she answered questions about the incident.
When the doctor arrived, he explained that she had a scalp laceration and bruising around her shoulder. He wanted to rule out a concussion.
Mom looked at me.
"Don't worry, sweetheart.""
I forced a smile.
"I'm not going anywhere.""
A nurse cleaned the blood from her forehead.
When she removed the last pieces of dried blood, I noticed how short my mother's hair looked.
The braid that had once reached her waist was gone.
She caught me staring.
"Don't look so sad.""
"How can I not?""
She touched the uneven ends.
"I'll get used to it.""
I wanted to tell her that she shouldn't have to get used to anything.
Instead, I kissed her forehead.
An hour later, the doctor returned with the results.
There was no evidence of a serious internal injury, and Mom would be discharged after observation with instructions to return if she developed worsening headaches, vomiting, confusion, or other concerning symptoms.
I finally breathed.
Then I remembered the envelope.
"Mom, what is inside?""
Her fingers tightened around her purse.
"Something I should have told you years ago.""
"About what?""
She stared at the ceiling.
"Your father.""
The room seemed to become smaller.
My father had died when I was four.
At least, that was what I'd always been told.
His name was Daniel Hayes.
I remembered very little about him. A photograph showed him holding me in a yellow raincoat outside a small house. Mom had kept that photograph on her bedroom dresser for as long as I could remember.
She had never remarried.
Whenever I asked about him, she gave me the same answer.
"Your father loved you very much, Naomi. That's all you need to know.""
"Is the envelope about Dad?""
Mom nodded slowly.
I reached for her hand.
"Then tell me.""
She looked toward the closed door.
"Not here.""
"Why?""
"Because Brandon might come.""
I felt my throat tighten.
"Mom, why are you afraid of Brandon?""
She didn't answer.
Instead, she asked me something unexpected.
"How long have you known his family?""
"Three years.""
"Did he ever talk about Daniel?""
I shook my head.
"Why would he?""
Mom closed her eyes.
"That's what I was afraid of.""
Before I could ask another question, someone knocked.
Brandon entered without waiting for permission.
He was still wearing the navy suit he'd worn to the salon.
His hair was perfectly arranged. His expensive shoes were spotless.
He looked like a man arriving for a business meeting rather than visiting an injured woman.
"Naomi.""
I stood.
"What are you doing here?""
"I've been calling you.""
"I turned off my phone.""
He glanced at my mother.
"Mrs. Hayes, how are you feeling?""
Mom looked at him without speaking.
Brandon pulled a chair toward the bed.
"I spoke to my father. He thinks we should all calm down and discuss what happened.""
I almost laughed.
"Your father thinks?""
"Naomi, please.""
"Your sister cut my mother's hair without permission. Your brother-in-law shoved her into a wall. And you want to discuss how everyone should calm down?""
Brandon rubbed his forehead.
"Derek shouldn't have pushed her.""
"Shouldn't have?""
"He's willing to apologize.""
"That doesn't erase what he did.""
Brandon leaned closer.
"Can we please stop making this about the salon?""
I looked at him.
"What else would it be about?""
His gaze moved toward the purse.
The movement was tiny.
But I saw it.
He knew exactly where the envelope was.
"Did you know about that letter?"" I asked.
His expression changed.
"What letter?""
"The one Brianna took from Mom.""
He looked at my mother.
"She still has it?""
Mom answered quietly.
"Yes.""
Brandon stood up.
"Mrs. Hayes, I really think you should leave that where it is.""
Mom's voice became firm.
"You have no right to tell me what to do with my property.""
"You're making a mistake.""
I stepped between them.
"Why do you keep saying that?""
He looked at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he lowered his voice.
"Because there are things you don't understand about your father's death.""
My heart stopped.
"What did you just say?""
Brandon looked toward the door.
"Naomi, we should talk privately.""
"No. You said my father's death.""
He exhaled sharply.
"Your mother knows what I'm talking about.""
I turned to Mom.
She was staring at him with an expression that looked almost like hatred.
"Get out," she said.
Brandon shook his head.
"You're being unfair.""
"Get out of this room.""
He looked at me again.
"Naomi, we're getting married in eleven days. Think about what you're doing.""
I took off the engagement ring.
I didn't throw it.
I simply placed it on the small table beside the hospital bed.
Brandon stared at it.
"Are you serious?""
"Until I understand what's happening, there is no wedding.""
His jaw tightened.
"You can't cancel an entire wedding because of a misunderstanding.""
"My mother is in a hospital bed.""
"And my family has spent over two hundred thousand dollars!""
I stared at him.
There it was.
Not concern.
Not remorse.
Money.
He pointed at the ring.
"Pick it up.""
"No.""
He leaned toward me.
"Naomi, don't humiliate me.""
I stepped back.
"You're doing a fine job of that yourself.""
He left, slamming the door.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the soft electronic beeping of the monitor.
Mom reached for my hand.
"Sweetheart, I need you to understand something.""
"What?""
"Brandon didn't come into your life by accident.""
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?""
She looked down at the envelope.
"Three years ago, when you met him, he already knew who you were.""
My skin turned cold.
"How?""
Mom swallowed.
"Because his father knew your father.""
I sat down slowly.
"You're saying Richard knew Dad?""
Mom nodded.
"And he wasn't supposed to know that you were still alive.""
The words landed like a physical blow.
I stared at her.
"What do you mean, still alive?""
Before she could answer, my phone lit up.
A message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
There was a photograph attached.
It showed a man standing outside a courthouse, holding a little girl in a yellow raincoat.
The same raincoat from my childhood photograph.
The same man from the picture on my mother's dresser.
Underneath it were six words.
*Your father didn't die in 1997.*
I looked up at Mom.
She was crying.
May you like
And then she whispered the sentence that changed everything.
"Naomi, your father was murdered.""
