Chapter 10: The Secret I Was Never Told
The message stayed on my screen for almost a full minute.
I read it again.
And again.
*“You still haven’t found the reason why they chose you.””*
Those words felt different from the threats before.
Ethan wanted revenge.
Laura wanted control.
But this person…
This person knew something about me.
Something hidden.
My father noticed my expression.
“What did they say?””
I handed him the phone.
He read the message silently.
Then his face changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
A feeling I had almost never seen from him.
“What?”” I asked.
He looked away.
“Nothing.””
I immediately knew he was lying.
“Dad.””
He sighed.
“There are things I never told you.””
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of things?””
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looked across the parking lot.
At the place where students were still celebrating graduation.
A day that was supposed to be simple.
A day that became a battlefield.
“I thought I was protecting you,” he said.
“From what?””
He looked at me.
“From your past.””
The words made no sense.
“My past?””
Before he could explain, my phone rang.
The investigator.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?””
“Emily, we traced the number that sent the message.””
My heart raced.
“And?””
A pause.
Then:
“It came from a device registered under a false name.””
“So you don’t know who it is?””
“We know one thing.””
“What?””
“The phone was activated eight years ago.””
I froze.
Eight years.
The same year my mother died.
The investigator continued.
“And there’s something else. The person who sent the message knew information that was never publicly available.””
My father looked at me.
“What information?””
The investigator lowered his voice.
“Your mother’s case.””
My fingers went cold.
My mother.
The one subject my father avoided for years.
“Why would someone bring up my mother?””
The investigator didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
But my father did.
I could see it.
“Dad.””
He closed his eyes.
“I didn’t want you involved.””
“Involved in what?””
He took a long breath.
“Your mother left behind evidence before she died.””
I stared.
“What evidence?””
“Something she discovered.””
“About what?””
He looked at the ground.
“About someone we trusted.””
The silence that followed felt unbearable.
All my life, I believed my mother’s death was a tragedy.
A painful accident.
A loss we never recovered from.
But now…
I wondered if there had been something more.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
My father’s voice broke slightly.
“Because you were sixteen.””
“I’m not sixteen anymore.””
“I know.””
He looked at me.
“And that’s why I’m telling you now.””
Mia stood nearby, listening.
For once, she didn’t interrupt.
She just looked confused.
“What does this have to do with me?”” she asked.
My father looked at her.
“I don’t know yet.””
That answer scared me.
Because if my father didn’t know…
Who did?
Later that night, I returned home.
The house felt unfamiliar.
Same walls.
Same furniture.
But every memory looked different.
The place where I cried over my dress.
The room where Mia stood with scissors.
The hallway where Laura admitted what she did.
Everything felt like evidence now.
I went to my bedroom.
The damaged dress was still there.
I picked up the small piece of lining Mia saved.
Then I noticed something.
A tiny mark stitched inside.
A symbol.
I had never seen it before.
I touched it carefully.
Then I remembered.
My mother had sewn something similar into my childhood blankets.
A small symbol she always said was “a reminder.””
I grabbed my old photo album.
I searched through pictures from when I was young.
And there it was.
The same symbol.
On my mother’s necklace.
My breathing stopped.
Someone knocked.
I turned.
Mia stood at the door.
“Emily?””
I quickly closed the album.
“What?””
She hesitated.
“I need to tell you something about Ethan.””
I frowned.
“What now?””
Her face became serious.
“Before everything happened…”
She swallowed.
“He told me he didn’t choose you randomly.””
My heart sank.
“What does that mean?””
Mia looked at me.
“He said your family had something he wanted.””
I stared at her.
“What something?””
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.””
Then my phone buzzed.
A new message.
A photo.
Not of me.
Not of the dress.
A photo of my mother.
May you like
And underneath it were three words:
*“Ask your father.””*
