Chapter 8: The Man at the Door
My father didn't sleep that night.
Neither did I.
At two in the morning, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the photograph of Daniel Brooks while the house settled around me.
The white dress I'd spent six months saving for was still ruined. My prom shoes were stained blue, and the invitation sat untouched on my desk.
But none of that mattered anymore.
Somewhere in Atlanta, a man who might be my biological father was alive.
And he had spent seventeen years knowing nothing—or pretending to know nothing—about me.
At 7:13 the next morning, my father's phone rang.
I was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of untouched coffee when he answered.
"Hello?""
A man's voice came through the speaker.
"Michael Hayes?""
"Who is this?""
"My name is Daniel Brooks. Eleanor gave me your number.""
My father went rigid.
I stood.
"You're Daniel?""
There was a pause.
Then the voice softened.
"Emily?""
I couldn't speak.
He continued carefully.
"I know this is a terrible way to meet you. I know you have every reason to be angry. But I've spent years trying to find your mother, and now I've learned that she's gone.""
My eyes burned.
"Where were you?""
"I wish I had a simple answer.""
"Try me.""
My father watched me, his expression unreadable.
Daniel took a breath.
"Twenty years ago, I was working overseas. Claire and I had planned a future together, but I made a terrible mistake. I left without explaining myself properly.""
"Why?""
"Because I thought I was protecting her from a dangerous situation involving my work.""
"That's convenient.""
"I know it sounds that way.""
"You left her. Then you disappeared. Now you suddenly want to meet me?""
"Emily, I didn't know you existed until recently.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"How can you prove that?""
"That's why I want to meet you. I have documents, letters, and photographs. I also have information about your mother's final weeks.""
My father took the phone from me.
"You'll meet with my attorney first.""
Daniel didn't argue.
"That's fair.""
"And you won't come near Emily until we've established the facts.""
Another pause.
"Michael, I understand why you feel that way. But I need you to know one thing. I never asked Claire to choose between us. I never wanted to take your daughter away from you.""
My father ended the call.
For a moment, the kitchen was silent except for the refrigerator humming in the corner.
Then I turned to him.
"You can't keep him away from me forever.""
"I'm not trying to.""
"You just told him he couldn't come near me.""
"Because we don't know what he wants.""
"He might be my father!""
Michael flinched.
The instant I saw his face, I regretted the words.
But I couldn't take them back.
He set the phone on the table.
"Emily, look at me.""
I did.
"I changed your diapers. I held you when you had nightmares. I sat outside your bedroom the first night after your mother died because you were too frightened to sleep alone. I was there for every birthday, every school play, every scraped knee.""
His voice cracked.
"I don't need a DNA test to know you're my daughter.""
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
"I know.""
"Do you?""
I stepped forward and hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly.
"I love you," I whispered.
"I love you too.""
For a few precious seconds, I was simply his little girl again.
Then the doorbell rang.
We separated.
My father looked toward the hallway.
"Stay here.""
He walked to the front door and opened it.
A tall man in a charcoal coat stood on the porch, holding a leather briefcase.
His dark hair had silver at the temples, and his eyes were the same ones I'd seen in the photograph.
Daniel Brooks.
"I know you asked me not to come," he said quietly.
"But there's something you need to see.""
My father blocked the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here.""
Daniel nodded.
"You're right. But I received a message last night that changed everything.""
He opened his briefcase and removed a sealed envelope.
"Someone sent this to my office. It contains a copy of a police report from the night Claire died.""
My father didn't move.
"The police report is public record.""
"Not this version.""
Daniel held up the document.
"The original report states that Claire's car was found near the road at 11:42 p.m. But the witness statement attached to this copy claims someone else was driving.""
My father went pale.
"Who?""
Daniel looked past him and saw me standing in the hallway.
For a moment, his face crumpled.
"Emily," he whispered.
Then he turned back to my father.
"The witness identified the driver as Vanessa.""
Behind us, a floorboard creaked.
Vanessa stood at the top of the staircase, one hand wrapped around the banister.
She looked as though she might faint.
"That's impossible," she whispered.
Daniel lifted his eyes toward her.
"No, Vanessa. What's impossible is that you believed nobody would ever find the original report.""
My father took the envelope.
His hands shook as he opened it.
May you like
Then he read the first page.
And the expression on his face told me that the truth about my mother's death was far worse than any of us had imagined.
