Chapter 3: The Name From the Past
Daniel stared at the phone screen as if the name in front of him could not possibly exist.
I watched the color disappear from his face.
“Daniel,” I said slowly.
“Who is calling?””
He didn’t answer.
The phone continued vibrating on the table between us.
The name was still there.
*Michael Carter.*
I knew that name.
Not because I had ever met him.
Because Daniel had told me he was gone.
Six years ago, before we met, Michael had been Daniel’s closest friend. He was the man who had helped Daniel build his first business, the person Daniel described as a brother.
He was also the man Daniel said had died in a car accident.
“Daniel,” I repeated.
“Why is a dead man calling you?””
His hand moved toward the phone but stopped halfway.
“I don’t know.””
That answer terrified me.
Because Daniel always knew what to say.
He was the calm one. The person who found solutions when everything fell apart.
But now he looked like someone who had just opened a door he had spent years trying to keep locked.
The phone stopped ringing.
A second later, a voicemail notification appeared.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, Daniel picked it up.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“Why?””
“Because whatever is happening, someone wants you to hear that message.””
He pressed play.
A man’s voice filled the room.
Older.
Rougher.
But clear.
“Daniel, if you’re hearing this, it means Margaret finally told you.””
Daniel froze.
I felt my chest tighten.
The voice continued.
“I know you thought the past was buried. It isn’t. And your son is the reason it’s coming back.””
My fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.
“Your son?””
Daniel looked at me.
The message continued.
“You need to find the documents Margaret hid before they do.””
The recording ended.
Silence.
A horrible, heavy silence.
“What documents?”” I asked.
Daniel stood up.
“I don’t know.””
“You keep saying that.””
“Because I don’t.””
I searched his face.
“You know something.””
His jaw tightened.
“Naomi—”
“No.””
My voice shook.
“No, don’t do that. Don’t act like I’m imagining things. A woman we trusted was alone with our baby, someone claiming to be dead is calling you, and now there are secret documents?””
Daniel looked away.
That hurt more than anger would have.
Because looking away meant there was something he wasn’t telling me.
“What happened before we met?”” I asked.
He stayed silent.
“Daniel.””
Finally, he sat down.
“There are things about my family I never told you.””
I waited.
“My father owned several properties,” he said.
“Including this house.””
I frowned.
“This house belonged to your father?””
He nodded.
“When he died, I inherited everything.””
“That’s not what you told me.””
“I know.””
The room felt smaller.
“What else?””
Daniel rubbed his face.
“When I inherited the estate, there were legal issues. Family disputes. People trying to challenge the will.””
“And Michael?””
His eyes moved toward the window.
“Michael helped me handle it.””
“Until he died.””
Daniel nodded.
But something about the way he said it bothered me.
“You don’t believe he died.””
Daniel didn’t respond.
That was my answer.
Before I could ask anything else, a sound came from upstairs.
A door closing.
We both looked toward the ceiling.
“Elijah.””
I ran.
Daniel followed behind me.
The nursery door was slightly open.
I knew I had closed it.
I stepped inside carefully.
My son was asleep.
Safe.
But something was different.
The wooden toy containing the camera was turned around.
Someone had touched it.
I walked closer.
A small piece of paper was lying beneath it.
Daniel picked it up first.
His face changed.
“What?””
He handed it to me.
It was an old photograph.
A baby.
A hospital room.
And on the back, written in faded ink:
*“October 14. The child they wanted hidden.””*
My hands began shaking.
“Daniel…”
He stared at the picture.
“I’ve never seen this.””
Then my phone buzzed.
Another message.
From the same unknown number.
This time there was a photo attached.
It showed Margaret standing outside our house earlier that morning.
But she wasn’t alone.
Someone was standing beside her.
Someone who looked exactly like the man from the voicemail.
Michael Carter.
May you like
Alive.
And watching our home.
