Chapter 5: The Woman From My Mother’s Past
Nobody spoke.
Not even the wind outside.
Claire stood at our doorway, holding her coat tightly around herself.
Dad stared at her like he was trying to decide whether to believe her or shut the door.
“You’re saying Brenda lied about my wife’s death?””
Claire nodded.
“I’m saying Brenda knew more than she admitted.””
My father’s jaw tightened.
“Eight years ago, everyone told me my wife lost control of the car because of the storm.””
Claire looked down.
“That wasn’t the whole story.””
I felt dizzy.
My entire childhood had been built around one explanation.
One terrible night.
One accident.
One loss.
And now a stranger was standing in front of me, telling us it wasn’t that simple.
Dad stepped outside.
“Start talking.””
Claire looked at me.
“Should Nia hear this?””
I answered before Dad could.
“Yes.””
Dad looked at me.
“Nia—”
“No.””
My voice surprised even me.
“I spent eight years hearing half the truth. I want the rest.””
Claire nodded.
She followed us into the kitchen.
Dad remained standing.
“So?””
Claire placed a small folder on the table.
“Your wife, Elena, was my closest friend.””
My breath caught.
Hearing my mother’s name from someone else felt strange.
“She contacted me a week before the accident,” Claire continued.
“She was scared.””
“Scared of what?”” Dad asked.
Claire looked toward the stairs.
“Brenda.””
The room went still.
Dad shook his head.
“That doesn’t make sense.””
“I know what it sounds like.””
“No,” Dad said.
“It sounds impossible.””
Claire nodded.
“That’s why Brenda was careful.””
I looked at the folder.
“What did she do?””
Claire opened it.
Inside were copies of messages.
Letters.
Photos.
My mother’s handwriting.
“She discovered Brenda had been taking money from the family account.””
Dad frowned.
“What?””
Claire looked at him.
“Elena found missing funds.””
Dad stared at the papers.
“How much?””
“Over several thousand dollars.””
I covered my mouth.
Dad looked devastated.
“Why didn’t Elena tell me?””
Claire’s eyes softened.
“She tried.””
The sentence hit him hard.
“She told me she wanted to confront Brenda after she had enough proof.””
Dad grabbed the table.
“And then she died.””
Claire nodded.
“Yes.””
The silence that followed felt unbearable.
I looked at Dad.
He looked broken.
Not angry.
Broken.
Because he was realizing that while he was grieving his wife, someone else had been controlling the story.
Then Dad noticed something.
A photo inside the folder.
He picked it up.
His face changed.
“What is this?””
Claire looked nervous.
“That’s why I came today.””
The picture showed my mother standing beside someone.
Someone familiar.
Someone I had seen many times.
Dad stared at it.
“No…”
I looked closer.
And my blood ran cold.
Because standing next to my mother was Brenda.
But the photo wasn’t from after my mother died.
It was dated three days before the accident.
Dad whispered:
“Why was Brenda with Elena that night?””
Claire looked at him.
“Because Elena was going to expose her.””
My heart pounded.
“What happened after that?””
Claire looked at me sadly.
“That’s the part I don’t know.””
Dad folded the photo.
“No.””
He shook his head.
“No more missing pieces.””
He looked toward the door.
“I’m going to find Brenda.””
But before he could move, his phone rang.
The screen showed an unknown number.
Dad answered.
“Hello?””
At first, nobody spoke.
Then a voice came through.
A voice we all recognized.
Brenda.
“I know Claire is there.””
Dad’s face darkened.
“How?””
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“You really think I wouldn’t know?””
Dad gripped the phone.
“Where are you?””
A pause.
Then Brenda whispered:
“You need to ask your daughter what her mother left behind.””
I looked at Dad.
“What is she talking about?””
Brenda continued.
“Andre… before you blame me for everything, remember one thing.””
The line crackled.
May you like
“She wasn’t the only person keeping secrets.””
Then the call ended.
