Chapter 3: The Man Who Remembered My Mother
I waited until the house went quiet before I answered Daniel.
My bedroom door remained locked. Downstairs, I could hear the television playing, followed by the clink of dishes as Denise cleaned the kitchen.
Marcus had stopped knocking, but I knew he hadn't gone to bed.
He was waiting for me to surrender.
Instead, I sat at my desk and typed the question that had haunted me since I was old enough to understand what a father was.
If you're my real father, why weren't you there?
The response took nearly a minute.
Because I was told your mother wanted nothing to do with me. Then, when I tried to find her, I was told she had moved away. By the time I discovered where she was, I was informed that she had died and that you were being raised by her husband.
I read the message twice.
You expect me to believe you spent eighteen years looking for me?
Daniel sent a voice message.
I hesitated before pressing play.
His voice was deeper than I'd imagined, with a roughness that made each word sound carefully chosen.
“Emily, I know you have every reason to hate me. I can't undo the years I missed, and I won't ask you to trust me because of a few messages. But your mother and I loved each other.
We were young, and we made mistakes. When she told me she was pregnant, I promised her I would be there for both of you.””
He paused.
“When I came back from a work assignment, she was gone. I spent months searching. Someone told me she'd married another man and wanted a fresh start.
Later, I was told she'd died. By then, every attempt to reach you led to a locked door.””
My eyes burned.
“Who told you?”” I whispered, even though he couldn't hear me.
The next message answered the question.
Marcus.
I sat motionless.
The room seemed to tilt around me.
I thought of every school event Marcus had attended, every photograph in which he stood beside me, every time he'd told me that my mother had loved me more than anything in the world.
Had he been comforting me while hiding the truth?
Had he watched me cry for a father I believed had abandoned me while knowing that man had tried to come back?
My phone buzzed again.
I have documents proving I tried to contact your mother. I also have something she wrote for you. I will not send it through the mail because I don't know who might intercept it.
Where are you? I typed.
I'm staying at the Riverside Inn, about twenty minutes from your house. I'll be here until tomorrow afternoon. If you want to meet, I'll wait in the lobby at nine tomorrow morning. You can bring someone you trust.
I nearly laughed at that last sentence.
Someone I trusted.
I had spent the day discovering that I might not know anyone in my family at all.
Before I could respond, a soft knock sounded at my bedroom door.
“Emily?”” Jordan whispered.
I opened it just wide enough for him to slip inside.
He carried two mugs of hot chocolate, the kind we'd made together as children whenever a thunderstorm knocked out the television.
He set one on my desk.
“Dad's downstairs,” he said.
“He's been on the phone for an hour.””
“With whom?””
“I don't know. But he keeps saying the same thing.””
Jordan sat on the edge of my bed.
“He keeps saying, ‘She can't find out before the birthday.’”
My stomach tightened.
“What birthday?””
“Yours.””
I sat beside him.
“Jordan, I need you to tell me everything you know. Even if Dad gets angry.””
He rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“About a month ago, I was looking for the charger in Dad's desk. I found a folder with your name on it. There were bank statements, legal papers, and a letter from Mom.””
My head snapped toward him.
“A letter from Mom?””
He nodded.
“It said something about a trust. I didn't understand it. Dad came in before I could read the whole thing, and he took it away.””
“What kind of trust?””
“I don't know. But I heard him arguing with Denise later. He said that once you turned eighteen, he wouldn't have control anymore.””
I stared at him.
“Control over what?””
Jordan shook his head.
“I swear, Emily, that's all I heard.””
I looked toward the locked door.
“Did he say anything about Daniel?””
Jordan nodded slowly.
“He said Daniel wasn't supposed to come back. Then Denise asked what would happen if he did. Dad said there was nothing Daniel could do as long as the original letter stayed hidden.””
My skin prickled.
“The original letter?””
“I think that's the one Daniel messaged you about.””
I picked up my phone and showed Jordan the photograph.
His face changed the moment he saw the handwriting.
“That's Mom's.””
“You recognize it?””
“Of course. She used to write our names on everything. Remember those Christmas stockings she made?””
I did.
My mother had died when I was nine, and Jordan had been only seven. He remembered her in fragments: the smell of cinnamon in her kitchen, her habit of humming while she folded laundry, the way she kissed the top of his head whenever he got upset.
For me, she was a collection of memories that had grown softer over time.
For him, she was a woman in old photographs.
We had both lost her.
But now I wondered whether Marcus had taken something else from us when he decided the truth belonged to him alone.
“Why didn't you tell me about the lawyer yesterday?”” I asked.
Jordan lowered his head.
“Dad said if you knew about Daniel, you'd leave and never come back. He said Daniel wanted to take you away from the family.””
“Did you believe him?””
Jordan didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered, “I did. Until today.””
I reached for his hand.
He looked younger than sixteen suddenly, like the little boy who used to crawl into my bed after nightmares.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“I should've stood up for you.””
“You were scared.””
“So were you.””
I had no answer for that.
A loud thud came from downstairs.
Then Marcus shouted Denise's name.
Jordan stood immediately.
“I should go.””
“Wait.””
I grabbed his sleeve.
“If Dad asks, you haven't seen my phone.””
He nodded.
Before he reached the door, he turned back.
“Emily?””
“Yeah?””
“If you meet Daniel tomorrow, ask him what happened the night Mom died.””
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?””
Jordan swallowed.
“I heard Dad say something on the phone. He said Daniel had no right to ask questions about the accident because he hadn't been there.””
The word accident seemed to drain the air from my lungs.
My mother had supposedly died after losing control of her car on a wet road. Marcus had told me the brakes were fine, the weather was terrible, and the police had found nothing suspicious.
I'd never questioned him.
Why would I have?
I waited until Jordan left, then sent Daniel another message.
What happened the night my mother died?
This time, he called.
I answered without speaking.
“Emily?”” he said.
“Yes.””
He exhaled shakily.
“I was told your mother died in a single-car accident. I didn't believe the story I was given, but I had no evidence to challenge it.””
“Why not?””
“Because the police report said the road was wet, the vehicle had left the highway, and there were no signs of another car. I wasn't listed as a relative, and Marcus refused to speak to me.””
I gripped the edge of my desk.
“Are you saying you think he had something to do with her death?””
“No,” Daniel said quickly.
“I'm saying I don't know what happened, and I won't accuse anyone without evidence. But your mother contacted me two weeks before she died. She told me she had finally found a way to make sure you would know the truth when you turned eighteen.””
My throat tightened.
“What truth?””
“I don't know. She said she'd written everything down and left instructions with her attorney. She was frightened, Emily. I've spent eighteen years wondering why.””
A floorboard creaked outside my bedroom.
I looked toward the door.
Someone was listening.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“There's one more thing. Your mother asked me to promise that I wouldn't come looking for you until your eighteenth birthday unless she contacted me first. I kept that promise because I thought it was what she wanted.””
“And now?””
“Now I think someone used that promise against both of us.””
The doorknob began to turn.
I ended the call and slipped my phone beneath a stack of textbooks.
Marcus entered without waiting for permission.
He held a glass of water in one hand and my graduation photograph in the other.
For a moment, his face softened as he looked at the picture.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
I didn't respond.
He set the glass on my desk.
“I know you're angry. I know today didn't go the way you wanted.””
“You missed my graduation.””
“I made a mistake.””
“No. You made a choice.””
His eyes narrowed.
“Daniel has contacted you, hasn't he?””
I kept my face still.
“Why would you think that?””
“Because I know him. He doesn't understand boundaries. He'll tell you whatever he thinks will make you hate me.””
“Did you lie to him about Mom?””
Marcus looked at the floor.
“Your mother was complicated.””
“Did you tell him she didn't want him?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Yes.””
The admission struck me with unexpected force.
“Why?””
“Because she was trying to build a life with me, and he kept interfering.””
“Did she actually tell you to keep him away?””
Marcus didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Did she?””
His silence stretched until it became unbearable.
Then he looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
“You have no idea what your mother was planning. She was going to destroy everything we'd built.””
“What does that mean?””
He reached for my phone, but I moved it beneath my textbook before he could see it.
“Stay away from Daniel,” he said.
“Don't meet him. Don't read anything he sends you. And whatever happens tomorrow, don't sign anything.””
“Why?””
Marcus walked toward the door.
“Because when you find out what your mother really left you, you'll understand why I did what I did.””
He stopped with his hand on the frame.
Then he turned back.
“And Emily? If Daniel gives you that letter, don't believe the part about the money.””
He left before I could ask what money he meant.
I stood alone in my room, listening to his footsteps fade down the stairs.
Then I pulled my phone from beneath the textbooks.
A new message from Daniel waited on the screen.
I need to tell you something before we meet tomorrow. Your mother didn't just leave you a letter. She left you a choice.
A second message appeared.
And Marcus has spent eighteen years making sure you never get to make it.
I stared at the words until the screen dimmed.
Then I looked at the photograph of my mother on my desk.
For the first time since her death, I wondered whether the story I'd been told about her final days was a lie, too.
May you like
Because if my mother had left behind a letter, a trust, and a choice that would become mine on my eighteenth birthday, there was only one question I could no longer ignore.
*What had Marcus been so desperate to keep me from inheriting—and what had my mother known that made her afraid of her own husband?*
