Chapter 4: The Lie at My Husband’s Funeral
“Mom, what happened to Uncle Matthew?””
Miles’s question followed me into the living room, where Daniel’s old photographs still lined the mantelpiece. I stood beneath a picture of our wedding, staring at my husband’s smiling face, and tried to remember the conversation I’d had with Rebecca fourteen months earlier.
The funeral had been held on a gray Thursday morning. Rain tapped against the church windows. People brought casseroles we barely touched, and relatives I hadn't seen in years hugged me as if their arms could somehow hold my marriage together.
Rebecca had arrived late.
She wore a black dress, dark sunglasses, and an expression so tightly controlled that I assumed she was simply struggling with grief.
We stood beside the church's side entrance while the funeral director prepared to escort everyone to the cemetery.
“Emily,” she'd said, squeezing my hand, “there's something you should know about Matthew.””
I'd been exhausted. I'd spent the previous night answering insurance questions and explaining to Miles why his father's body wouldn't be coming home.
“What about him?”” I'd asked.
Rebecca glanced toward the other mourners.
“He died years ago. It was a tragic accident. Daniel never really got over it.””
Then she'd hugged me and whispered, “Please don't bring it up with him. It was the one thing he could never forgive himself for.””
I had assumed Daniel had lost a childhood friend.
Now I wondered why Rebecca had used the word Uncle when referring to Matthew in that message.
I turned to Miles.
“Your father had a cousin named Matthew. I never met him.””
Miles frowned.
“But the message says Uncle Matthew.””
“I know.””
“Maybe he was your dad's brother?””
“Daniel never mentioned a brother.””
Miles looked at the photograph on his phone again.
“Whoever sent this knows something about Dad. They know about the videos. And they know about you.””
I took a breath.
“We're going to find out who it is.””
“Mom, please don't tell the school about the group chat.””
I looked at him carefully.
“I'm not promising to keep secrets that could put you or somebody else in danger.””
His shoulders fell.
“I figured.””
“But I will listen to you. And I won't assume I understand everything just because I'm your mother.””
He stared at me as if he wasn't sure he believed me.
I couldn't blame him.
For years, I'd mistaken knowing every detail of my son's daily routine for knowing what happened inside his head.
I knew his favorite cereal, his shoe size, and which songs he played too loudly in the shower.
I hadn't known he was frightened of becoming the next target in a group chat.
And I hadn't known he was making other children pay for that fear.
That night, after Miles went upstairs, I called Rebecca.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Emily? Is everything okay?””
“I need to ask you about Matthew.””
Silence.
Then a chair scraped across a floor.
“Why are you asking about him?””
“Because someone sent Miles an old video of Daniel and Matthew. They told him to ask me what really happened to Uncle Matthew.””
Rebecca exhaled sharply.
“Who sent that?””
“I was hoping you could tell me.””
“Emily, listen to me. Whatever you've found, leave it alone.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“That's not an answer.””
“It's the only answer I can give you right now.””
“Rebecca, my son is involved in a bullying investigation. Someone is sending him videos from your family's past. And my dead husband's name is on a complaint at his school. I am done accepting vague explanations.””
Her breathing became uneven.
“Did you watch the recording?””
“Yes.””
“Then you know what Dad was like.””
“I know what Richard did to Daniel and Matthew. I don't know what happened afterward.””
Rebecca didn't respond.
I moved toward the kitchen window.
“Did Matthew die in an accident?””
The silence lasted so long that I checked whether the call had disconnected.
Finally, she whispered, “No.””
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean, no?””
“Matthew didn't die in an accident.””
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“Then what happened to him?””
“He left.””
“Left where?””
“I don't know exactly. He was sixteen when he disappeared from our lives. He'd been staying with us that summer, and after what Dad did, he went home to his mother.
Daniel tried calling him. He wrote letters. None of them were answered.””
“But you told me he died.””
“I know what I told you.””
“Why?””
Rebecca began to cry.
“Because Dad made us all promise never to speak about what happened. And because I was ashamed. I watched him humiliate Matthew. I laughed sometimes because I was afraid Dad would turn on me next.””
Her voice cracked.
“Daniel was the only one who eventually stood up to him. But by then, the damage had already been done.””
I closed my eyes.
“Why did you tell me Matthew was dead?””
“Because I wanted that part of our family to stay buried.””
“And you thought lying to me was acceptable?””
“No,” she whispered.
“I thought if nobody talked about it, nobody would have to face what we'd done.””
I thought about Miles saying the other children were easier targets.
I thought about my own words in the school office: Kids can be mean.
How often had I mistaken silence for peace?
“Rebecca, I need the truth. All of it.””
She took a shaky breath.
“Come to my house tomorrow. There's something Daniel left with me. He asked me to keep it until you were ready to know.””
I stared at the wedding photograph on the mantelpiece.
“What did he leave?””
“A letter. And a name.””
“Whose name?””
Before she could answer, I heard a loud thud upstairs.
“Miles?””
I dropped the phone and ran.
His bedroom door stood open. His desk chair was overturned, and his phone lay shattered on the floor.
Miles stood by the window, pale and trembling.
“Mom,” he whispered.
I crossed the room.
“What happened?””
He pointed at the laptop on his desk.
Someone had remotely opened the group chat on his account.
A new message was displayed across the screen.
It contained a photograph of our house taken from across the street.
Beneath it were seven words.
*Tomorrow, your mother learns what your father did.*
May you like
Then the screen went black.
And outside, beneath the streetlight, a car slowly pulled away from the curb.
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