Chapter 13: 3:52 P.M.
“Who was with you?”” I asked.
Malcolm didn't answer.
The room felt impossibly small.
Isaiah sat on the couch, clutching the blue folder against his chest. Tasha stood near the kitchen counter, staring at Malcolm as though she already knew what he was about to say.
Finally, Malcolm whispered, “Sean.””
I looked at Tasha.
She shook her head.
“That isn't possible.””
“Why?”” I asked.
“Because Sean wasn't there.””
Malcolm looked at her.
“You knew he was.””
“I knew he visited Emily.””
“When?””
“That afternoon.””
“Then why did you tell me he was dead?””
Tasha looked away.
Malcolm stepped closer.
“You let me believe my friend was dead for two years.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
“From the truth.””
I slammed my hand against the table.
“No more half-truths.””
Everyone went quiet.
I turned to Malcolm.
“What happened at 3:52?””
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I went into Emily's room.””
“And Sean?””
“He was already there.””
“Doing what?””
“Arguing with her.””
“About Isaiah?””
“No.””
Malcolm swallowed.
“About the money.””
My stomach tightened.
“What money?””
“The education account.””
I looked at the bank statements.
“Why would Sean care about that?””
“Because Emily had discovered something.””
“What?””
Malcolm stared at Tasha.
“She discovered that Tasha had been transferring money into an account controlled by Sean.””
Tasha shook her head.
“That isn't what happened.””
“Then tell us what happened.””
She didn't.
Malcolm continued.
“Emily told me she had proof.””
“Proof of what?””
“That Tasha had been using Isaiah's money to pay Sean.””
“For what?””
“Debt.””
Tasha finally spoke.
“Sean was being blackmailed.””
“By whom?””
She looked at Malcolm.
“By Emily.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
“Emily knew Sean had a gambling problem. She threatened to expose him unless he stopped contacting her.””
Malcolm's face hardened.
“You're changing the story.””
“No.””
“You always do this.””
“I was trying to keep him away from her.””
“By stealing from Isaiah?””
“By paying his debts.””
The room fell silent.
I looked at Sean's photograph again.
“What happened at 3:52?””
Malcolm closed his eyes.
“Emily told me Isaiah wasn't my biological son.””
Tasha inhaled sharply.
“I walked out.””
I stared at him.
“You believed her?””
“For about ten minutes.””
“Then?””
“Then Emily called me back.””
“What did she say?””
“She said she was testing me.””
My heart pounded.
“She wanted to know whether I'd still love Isaiah if he wasn't mine.””
“And what did you say?””
“I told her he was my son regardless.””
Malcolm's eyes filled.
“Then she showed me the DNA report.””
“The real one?””
“Yes.””
“And?””
“Positive.””
“For you?””
“Yes.””
I looked at Tasha.
“Then why was another DNA test being prepared?””
She whispered, “Because Emily didn't trust the first lab.””
“Why?””
“She thought someone had tampered with the sample.””
Malcolm nodded.
“She was going to send a second test.””
I remembered the black folder.
“But someone took it.””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
Malcolm looked at Tasha.
She looked at me.
Then she said, “I did.””
My chest tightened.
“You took the DNA test?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because Sean told me the result would expose him.””
“What would it expose?””
Tasha started crying.
“He wasn't Isaiah's father.””
“I know.””
“No.””
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.””
She looked at Malcolm.
“Sean wasn't afraid of the DNA result.””
“Then what was he afraid of?””
Tasha's voice dropped.
“He was afraid the test would prove who really was.””
I stared at her.
“Who?””
She looked toward Isaiah.
Then toward Malcolm.
And finally at me.
“Your son.””
Malcolm frowned.
“What about me?””
Tasha whispered,
“Emily didn't suspect you were Isaiah's father.””
She paused.
“She suspected you were his father *and that you already knew*.””
Malcolm's face went blank.
“That isn't true.””
Tasha reached into her purse and pulled out a folded page.
“I found this in Emily's folder.””
She handed it to me.
At the bottom was a sentence written in Emily's handwriting:
*Malcolm knows what happened before Isaiah was born.*
I looked at my son.
“Do you know?””
His face crumpled.
“I remember something.””
“What?””
He stared at the floor.
“The night Isaiah was born, Emily told me she was afraid of someone.””
“Who?””
“She wouldn't say.””
“And you?””
“I promised I'd protect her.””
“From whom?””
He finally looked at me.
“From my father.””
The room went silent.
My husband had been dead for twelve years.
May you like
And I suddenly understood why Emily had written that sentence.
Because whatever happened before Isaiah was born had never truly ended.
