Chapter 13: The Night Everything Changed
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“My mother was there?””
Andrew’s silence answered before his words did.
“Yes.””
I gripped the phone so tightly my fingers hurt.
“No.””
“Daniel—”
“No.””
I walked away from the kitchen table.
“No, Andrew. I was there that night.””
“I know.””
“I was there when Sarah died.””
“I know.””
“Then why didn’t I know my mother was there?””
Because nobody told me.
That was the truth.
Not my mother.
Not Andrew.
Not anyone.
Three years ago, I lost my wife.
And apparently, everyone around me had been protecting a secret.
I looked toward the stairs.
Emily’s bedroom door was closed.
She was asleep.
Safe.
I needed to keep it that way.
“Tell me everything.””
Andrew exhaled.
“I found out after Sarah died.””
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
“Because Sarah made me promise.””
I closed my eyes.
“Everyone keeps saying Sarah made promises.””
“She was scared, Daniel.””
“So was I.””
My voice broke.
“I buried my wife. I raised my daughter alone. I spent three years wondering if I missed something that could have saved her.””
Andrew was quiet.
Then he said:
“You need to hear what happened.””
I sat down.
“Tell me.””
Andrew began.
“The night Sarah died, your mother came to your house.””
I looked at the floor.
“Why?””
“She said she wanted to help.””
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“That’s what everyone says.””
Andrew continued.
“Sarah called me after your mother arrived.””
“What did she say?””
“She said something was wrong.””
I froze.
“What exactly?””
Andrew paused.
“She said, ‘I finally know who has been feeding Rebecca information.’”
My heart pounded.
“And?””
“She never finished the call.””
I felt sick.
“What happened?””
“Your mother left before the ambulance came.””
I stood again.
“Wait.””
My voice lowered.
“She was there when Sarah collapsed?””
“Yes.””
“And she just left?””
“Yes.””
The room felt smaller.
My own mother.
The woman who held me while I cried.
The woman who promised to protect Emily.
The woman who stood beside me at Sarah’s funeral.
“What did the police say?””
Andrew hesitated.
“They never knew.””
I stared.
“What?””
“Your mother wasn’t honest about being there.””
Everything went silent.
I hung up.
Not because I was angry.
Because I couldn’t hear anymore.
A memory suddenly returned.
A small detail I had forgotten.
The night Sarah died, my mother arrived at the hospital before anyone called her.
I always thought it was because of a mother’s instinct.
Now I wondered.
I didn’t sleep.
At sunrise, I drove to my mother’s house.
She opened the door before I knocked.
She knew.
The moment she saw me, she started crying.
“Daniel.””
“Why?””
Her face collapsed.
“Please.””
“Why were you there?””
She stepped back.
“I wanted to protect you.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“Not anymore.””
She looked older than I remembered.
Tired.
Broken.
But I couldn’t let that distract me.
“Tell me the truth.””
She sat down.
“I met Rebecca before you did.””
“I know.””
Her eyes widened.
“Who told you?””
“That doesn’t matter.””
She looked away.
“I thought she could help.””
“Help with what?””
“With making things easier.””
I stared at her.
“My wife died.””
“I know.””
“You brought someone into my life who was planning to take my daughter.””
“I didn’t know that.””
“You knew enough.””
She started crying.
“I made a terrible mistake.””
I hated those words.
Again.
A mistake.
“How did Sarah die?””
My mother covered her face.
“I don’t know.””
“Don’t lie.””
She looked at me.
“I swear.””
“Then why did you leave?””
Her tears stopped.
Because I had asked the one question she couldn’t answer.
Finally, she whispered:
“Because Sarah showed me something.””
“What?””
“She showed me documents.””
“What documents?””
“About Rebecca.””
I stepped closer.
“What did they say?””
My mother shook her head.
“I didn’t read all of them.””
“Why?””
“Because Rebecca threatened me.””
My blood went cold.
“She threatened you?””
“She said if I exposed her, she would tell you everything about my past.””
I stared.
“What past?””
My mother looked toward the window.
Then whispered:
“The reason Sarah was investigating Rebecca.””
I waited.
My mother finally said:
“Rebecca wasn’t trying to marry you because she loved you.””
“Then why?””
“She believed Emily had something.””
“What?””
My mother looked at me.
“A memory.””
I felt confused.
“Emily was four years old.””
“I know.””
“She was a child.””
“I know.””
My mother’s voice dropped.
“But children remember more than adults think.””
That night, after I returned home, I sat beside Emily’s bed.
I watched her sleep.
A memory.
Something from three years ago.
Something she saw.
Something she forgot.
Then Emily suddenly opened her eyes.
“Daddy?””
I jumped.
“Hey, sweetheart.””
She looked at me.
“I remember something.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
She frowned.
“About Mommy.””
I leaned closer.
“What do you remember?””
She whispered:
“The woman who was arguing with her.””
My entire body froze.
“What woman?””
May you like
Emily looked scared.
“She told Mommy she would make sure you never found out.””
