Chapter 3: The Envelope Rebecca Left Behind
For several seconds after Tasha disappeared upstairs, nobody moved.
Malcolm turned toward his mother.
“Mom, what envelope is she talking about?””
Margaret stared at the staircase.
She could hear Tasha opening drawers in the bedroom above them, slamming each one shut as if searching for something she wanted them to hear.
“Margaret?”” Malcolm pressed.
“Did Rebecca leave an envelope with you?””
Margaret slowly sat on the edge of Isaiah's bed.
“Yes.””
Malcolm's expression changed.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because Rebecca asked me not to open it unless something happened to Isaiah that made me fear for his future.””
“Something like this?””
Margaret looked down at her hands.
“Exactly like this.””
Malcolm took a step back.
“Mom, what was in it?””
“I don't know.””
“You just said she asked you not to open it.””
“She gave it to me two weeks before she died. She told me to keep it somewhere safe. She said it was meant for you, but that I should only give it to you when the time was right.””
“And you decided the time was right without telling me?””
“No. I decided to honor her wishes until I had a reason to believe Isaiah might be in danger.””
Malcolm rubbed his face.
“This is unbelievable.””
“I know how it sounds.””
“Then explain it.””
Margaret stood.
“I will. But not here.””
They heard footsteps overhead.
Tasha appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying a glass of water. She paused when she saw their expressions.
“What's wrong?”” she asked, suddenly cheerful.
“Did I interrupt a family meeting?””
Malcolm looked up at her.
“Where did you hear about Rebecca's envelope?””
Tasha took a sip of water.
“Rebecca told me about it herself.””
Margaret felt a chill crawl up her arms.
“When?””
“Before she died.””
“That isn't possible,” Margaret said.
“You barely knew Rebecca.””
Tasha smiled without warmth.
“You'd be surprised what people tell each other when they know they're running out of time.””
She walked into the kitchen.
Malcolm followed her.
“Did you know what was in the envelope?””
“No.””
“Then why bring it up?””
“Because I'm tired of being treated like a criminal when your own family has been hiding things from you.””
She placed the glass in the sink.
“Maybe the problem isn't me, Malcolm. Maybe you've spent so long worshipping your dead wife that you refuse to see what your living family needs.””
Malcolm stared at her.
“Isaiah is my living family.””
“And so are Tyler and Kayla!””
“Then why does one child's money keep disappearing while the others get everything they want?””
Tasha's expression hardened.
“Because I am the one who has to make decisions around here. You send money and expect everything to work perfectly. You don't know what groceries cost.
You don't know what the children need. You don't even know what's happening under your own roof.””
“Then tell me.””
She looked away.
For a moment, Margaret saw something that wasn't anger.
Fear.
It vanished almost immediately.
Tasha grabbed her handbag.
“I have errands to run.””
“Sit down,” Malcolm said.
She stopped.
“Excuse me?””
“I said sit down. We're not finished.””
Tasha looked at him as though she had never heard him speak that way before.
Then she smiled again.
“Fine. But if we're going to discuss secrets, perhaps we should start with your mother.””
She turned to Margaret.
“Tell him where you keep Rebecca's envelope.””
Margaret met her gaze.
“I won't tell you anything about that envelope.””
“Why not?””
“Because Rebecca trusted me.””
Tasha's smile disappeared.
For a heartbeat, her face looked almost unfamiliar.
Then she walked out of the kitchen, leaving the front door open behind her.
An hour later, Margaret and Malcolm sat in her living room.
Margaret went to the bedroom closet and moved several folded blankets from the bottom shelf. Behind them was a small wooden box with a brass latch.
She carried it into the living room.
Malcolm watched her place it on the coffee table.
“That's it?””
“Yes.””
Margaret unlocked the box.
Inside were a few photographs, a silver bracelet Rebecca had worn as a teenager, and a cream-colored envelope sealed with dark blue wax.
Malcolm reached for it, then stopped.
His mother's name was written across the front in Rebecca's familiar handwriting.
Underneath, in smaller letters, were five words:
*For Margaret. Only if necessary.*
Malcolm sat down slowly.
“Why would Rebecca leave something like this?””
“Because she was frightened.””
“Of what?””
Margaret shook her head.
“She never told me.””
She remembered that final visit vividly.
Rebecca had arrived at her house on a rainy afternoon, carrying Isaiah on her hip. She had been pale and tired, with shadows beneath her eyes. She insisted on making tea even though Margaret offered to do it herself.
After Isaiah fell asleep on the sofa, Rebecca had taken Margaret's hands.
“Promise me you'll protect him,” she had whispered.
Margaret had laughed nervously.
“Rebecca, he's my grandson. Of course I'll protect him.””
“No. Promise me you'll believe him, even if the people around him say he's lying.””
Margaret had felt a knot form in her stomach.
“What happened?””
“Nothing you can fix right now.””
“Rebecca, you're scaring me.””
Rebecca had looked toward the sleeping child.
“There's something wrong with the way money is being handled. I tried to explain it to Malcolm, but he thinks I'm exhausted. He thinks I'm imagining things.””
“Have you told anyone else?””
“No.””
“Should I call someone?””
Rebecca had gripped Margaret's hands harder.
“Not yet. Please. If I disappear from his life, I need you to remember what I told you.””
Margaret had promised.
Two weeks later, Rebecca died in a car accident.
The police report described the collision as a loss of control on a wet road. Malcolm had been devastated. Margaret had been too consumed by grief to question anything.
Now, looking at the sealed envelope, she wondered whether she had mistaken Rebecca's fear for the anxiety of a dying woman.
Malcolm's voice brought her back to the present.
“Open it, Mom.””
Margaret carefully broke the seal.
Inside were three folded pages and a small photograph.
The first page began with Rebecca's name and the date, written three weeks before her death.
Margaret read the opening lines silently.
Then she stopped breathing for a moment.
“What's wrong?”” Malcolm asked.
She handed him the page.
He read it once.
Then again.
His face grew pale.
The letter described a savings account established for Isaiah shortly after his birth. Rebecca had discovered unexplained withdrawals from it, along with transfers to an account she did not recognize.
She had begun keeping records.
She had also discovered that someone had been accessing private documents stored in their home office.
Near the bottom of the page, Rebecca had written:
If anything happens to me, do not assume the person who comforts you is the person who can be trusted.
Malcolm dropped the paper onto his lap.
“Who was she talking about?””
“I don't know,” Margaret whispered.
He picked up the second page.
It contained a list of dates, amounts, and account numbers. Several matched the transactions Malcolm had found that morning.
But one entry was different.
It was dated six months before Rebecca died.
Beside it, Rebecca had written a single name.
*Tasha Collins.*
Malcolm stood so quickly that the coffee table shook.
“Tasha knew Rebecca before she died?””
Margaret looked at him.
“Did you know that?””
“No.””
He began pacing.
“She told me they had met only once, at a family gathering. She said she barely remembered her.””
Margaret picked up the photograph.
It showed Rebecca standing outside a small brick building, one hand resting on a man's shoulder. The man was partly turned away from the camera.
Behind them, in the reflection of a glass door, stood a woman.
Margaret leaned closer.
The woman wore a dark coat and held a folder against her chest.
Even with the photograph faded and scratched, Margaret recognized her.
Tasha.
But that wasn't what made Margaret's fingers begin to tremble.
The man beside Rebecca was someone she knew, too.
Someone who had attended her husband's funeral.
Someone Malcolm had called Uncle David for as long as he could remember.
Except David wasn't Malcolm's uncle.
He was Rebecca's brother.
And according to the family story, Rebecca had grown up an only child.
Malcolm stared at the photograph.
“Who is that man?””
Margaret couldn't answer.
She turned the picture over.
Rebecca had written a sentence on the back.
Malcolm deserves to know who his father really was.
The room went silent.
Malcolm read the words over his mother's shoulder.
Then he looked up, his face drained of color.
“My father died when I was twelve,” he whispered.
“I know who he was.””
Margaret shook her head.
“Your father died when you were twelve. That doesn't mean everything you were told about him was true.””
Malcolm's eyes returned to the photograph.
He turned it over again, examining the man's face.
Then he noticed something Margaret had missed.
A small hospital identification bracelet wrapped around the man's wrist.
On it was a date.
And beneath the date, written in tiny letters, was the name of the hospital where Malcolm himself had been born.
He looked at his mother.
“Mom,” he said, his voice barely audible, “why would Rebecca have a photograph of this man at the hospital where I was born?””
Margaret reached for the third page.
But before she could unfold it, Malcolm's phone began vibrating on the table.
The screen showed Tasha's name.
He answered without speaking.
For several seconds, all they heard was breathing.
Then Tasha whispered, “Malcolm, listen to me carefully. Whatever your mother has shown you, don't believe it.””
“Why?””
“Because Rebecca wasn't the person you think she was.””
Malcolm gripped the phone.
“What are you talking about?””
Tasha began to cry.
May you like
And then she said the one thing that made Margaret drop the envelope.
“Your father didn't die when you were twelve. He was alive when Rebecca died.””
