Chapter 7: The Woman From My Father’s Past
My father said my mother’s name like it was a word he hadn’t allowed himself to speak in years.
The office became completely silent.
I stared at him.
“What does Vanessa have to do with Mom?””
Dad looked down at the phone.
For the first time since he came home, he looked lost.
Not angry.
Not confident.
Lost.
“I don’t know yet.””
That answer scared me more than anything else.
Because my father always knew what to do.
When my bike chain broke, he fixed it.
When I had nightmares, he sat beside my bed until I fell asleep.
When our sink flooded, he turned off the water and handled everything.
But now he was holding a phone filled with secrets about my mother, and even he didn’t understand.
Mr. Harris leaned forward.
“Michael, what exactly did your wife know about your first marriage?””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Vanessa never talked about my past.””
“Never?””
“Never.””
I looked at the phone.
“What does the message say?””
Dad hesitated.
Then he showed me.
It was a conversation between Vanessa and Daniel.
The date was from years ago.
Before Vanessa entered our lives.
Vanessa:
*I found him.*
Daniel:
*Are you sure it’s the same man?*
Vanessa:
*Yes. Michael Carter. The husband of Sarah Carter.*
My heart stopped.
Sarah.
My mom.
I had been five years old when she died.
I remembered little things.
Her perfume.
Her singing in the kitchen.
The way she always tucked my blanket around my shoulders.
But I also remembered how quickly life changed after she was gone.
Dad became quieter.
The house became emptier.
Then, years later, Vanessa appeared.
I never questioned why.
I just wanted my dad to be happy again.
Mr. Harris kept reading.
Daniel:
*And the daughter?*
Vanessa:
*She’s still young. She won’t remember much.*
My fingers tightened.
Dad noticed.
He immediately locked the phone.
“Enough.””
But I had already heard enough.
“She knew about me.””
Dad looked at me.
“Yes.””
“Before she met me?””
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
I felt sick.
All those years.
All those smiles.
All those moments when she acted like she was getting to know me.
She already knew exactly who I was.
That night, Dad barely slept.
Neither did I.
The next morning, he called someone.
An old friend.
A private investigator.
His name was Robert.
When he arrived, he carried a folder full of documents.
“I looked into Vanessa’s background,” Robert said.
Dad sat across from him.
“And?””
Robert opened the folder.
“Her story doesn’t match what she told you.””
Dad looked at the papers.
“What did you find?””
“She changed her last name three times.””
“Why?””
“Different reasons listed. Divorce. Personal reasons. Business reasons.””
Dad frowned.
“Anything else?””
Robert pulled out another document.
“This is the interesting part.””
He placed it on the table.
“Before Vanessa met you, she worked for a company that handled financial records.””
Dad stared.
“Financial records?””
“Yes.””
Robert looked serious.
“She had access to information about wealthy clients.””
My stomach tightened.
Dad looked at him.
“You think she researched me?””
“I think she knew who you were before you knew who she was.””
The room felt colder.
Dad stood and walked to the window.
“I met her at a charity event.””
Robert nodded.
“According to her old records, she knew you would be there.””
Dad closed his eyes.
I watched his face.
He was remembering everything.
The first conversation.
The first date.
The moment he thought he had found happiness again.
But maybe it had all been planned.
“Why?”” Dad whispered.
Robert didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
“That’s what we need to find out.””
Later that day, Dad and I went through old photo albums.
He wanted to look for anything connected to Vanessa.
Anything we missed.
We sat on the living room floor surrounded by memories.
Pictures of my mom.
Pictures of me as a baby.
Pictures of a life before everything changed.
Then I found something.
A photograph.
It was from my mother’s funeral.
I had never noticed it before.
In the background stood a woman.
A woman watching my father.
I picked up the photo.
“Dad.””
He looked.
His face immediately changed.
“No.””
“What?””
He grabbed the picture.
“That’s impossible.””
“Who is she?””
Dad didn’t answer.
Because he knew.
The woman in the background was younger.
Her hair was different.
But her face was unmistakable.
It was Vanessa.
May you like
And written on the back of the photograph was a date.
The same day my mother died.
