Chapter 8: The Letter My Mother Left
“You are not going alone.””
Dad said it before I finished reading the message.
“I know.””
“Good.””
“But Linda thinks I am.””
Claire nodded.
“That we can use.””
Daniel stood.
“I’m coming.””
“No.””
“Sarah—”
“No.””
“She’s my mother.””
“And that is exactly why you’re not coming.””
His face tightened.
“You think I’ll protect her?””
I looked at him.
“You already did.””
He had no answer.
The address Linda sent belonged to a small hotel near O’Hare.
Claire contacted the detective who had taken the report.
While police arranged what they called a controlled approach, Dad and I sat in the kitchen.
There was still one question.
“What did you mean Martin stole my identity?””
Dad folded his hands.
“When you were a child, your mother discovered Martin had kept copies of family records. Birth certificates. Social Security information. Trust drafts.””
“Why?””
“To create leverage.””
“Against you?””
“Yes.””
“Did he use mine?””
Dad’s silence told me.
“How?””
“In the nineties, identity verification wasn’t what it is today. Martin created accounts linked to names belonging to family members.””
“Mine?””
“One.””
“How old was I?””
“Six.””
I stared at him.
“Someone opened an account in my name when I was six?””
“Yes.””
“And Mom discovered it?””
“She found correspondence.””
“What happened?””
“We closed everything we could find. I confronted Martin. He disappeared.””
“And the letter?””
“Your mother documented everything.””
My throat tightened.
Mom had been dead twenty-three years.
Suddenly she felt present in the room.
“What did she write?””
Dad’s eyes became wet.
“She wrote it for you.””
“Me?””
“In case anything happened to us.””
I whispered, “Why didn’t you give it to me?””
“Because I thought the danger was gone.””
I stood.
“You keep deciding what truths I can handle.””
“I know.””
“You did it with Rebecca. You did it with Martin. You did it with Mom’s letter.””
“I know.””
“I’m not twelve anymore.””
Dad looked at me.
“No. You’re not.””
There was no defense in his voice.
Only regret.
“I was wrong.””
That stopped me.
Daniel had apologized a thousand times during our marriage.
Sorry Mom upset you.
Sorry you took it that way.
Sorry dinner was uncomfortable.
Dad’s apology was different.
No excuse.
No demand for forgiveness.
Just responsibility.
Claire entered.
“Police are ready.””
The hotel parking lot was nearly empty.
I wore a small microphone beneath my coat.
Two detectives waited nearby.
Dad remained in Claire’s SUV.
Daniel had been told to stay at my house.
Whether he actually would was another question.
I entered the lobby.
Linda sat near the windows.
Alone.
The stolen documents were inside a leather bag beside her.
She smiled when she saw me.
“You came.””
“I want my documents.””
“Sit.””
“No.””
Her smile disappeared.
“You always did have a problem with respect.””
I almost laughed.
“You slapped me, burned me, stole from my house, forged my signature, and tried to take money from my daughter.””
“I was protecting my family.””
“So was I.””
That landed.
Her jaw tightened.
“Tell your father to withdraw the loan review.””
“No.””
“Then everything becomes public.””
“What exactly?””
She studied me.
“You don’t know.””
“I know about Martin.””
For the first time, Linda looked genuinely surprised.
Then she smiled.
“Robert finally told you.””
“Some of it.””
“Of course. Robert only tells people the parts that make him look noble.””
“And you’re going to tell me the truth?””
“I’ll tell you what he won’t.””
She opened the bag.
Pulled out an old envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Sarah.
I recognized the handwriting.
My mother’s.
My chest tightened.
“Give it to me.””
Linda held it back.
“Withdraw the review.””
“No.””
“You don’t even know what this says.””
“It belongs to me.””
“It could destroy your father.””
“Then why hasn’t it?””
Linda hesitated.
That was when I realized something.
She hadn’t read it.
The envelope was still sealed.
“You don’t know what’s inside.””
Her face changed.
“You stole a letter you haven’t even opened.””
“It’s leverage.””
“No. It’s a guess.””
Linda stood.
“You think you’re clever?””
“I think you’re scared.””
She leaned closer.
“You should be scared.””
“Why?””
“Because Daniel didn’t meet you by accident.””
I stared at her.
She smiled.
“I arranged it.””
Even though I suspected it, hearing her admit it felt different.
“How?””
“I knew where you worked. I knew where you went after work. I suggested Daniel visit the same coffee shop.””
My stomach twisted.
“Our first meeting—”
“Was planned.””
I remembered Daniel accidentally spilling coffee near my laptop.
His embarrassed smile.
The napkins.
The conversation.
The first date.
My entire marriage suddenly felt contaminated.
“Did Daniel know?””
“At first? No.””
“At first?””
Linda’s smile faded.
“He figured it out before he proposed.””
My throat closed.
“And he married me anyway.””
“Yes.””
“Because of money?””
Linda leaned closer.
“Ask him.””
Then she glanced toward the hotel entrance.
Her expression changed.
I turned.
Daniel was standing there.
He had followed us.
“Mom.””
Linda grabbed the leather bag.
“You idiot.””
Daniel walked toward us.
“Give Sarah the letter.””
“No.””
“Give it to her.””
Linda backed away.
“You have no idea what I sacrificed for you.””
“There it is,” I whispered.
Daniel looked at her.
“Maybe Sarah was right.””
Linda slapped him.
The crack echoed through the lobby.
Daniel didn’t move.
Neither did I.
He touched his cheek.
Then looked at his mother.
“You’re done hitting people.””
Linda’s face twisted.
“You ungrateful little—”
“Give her the letter.””
She reached into her coat instead.
For one terrible second, everyone froze.
But she pulled out only a phone.
She tapped the screen.
Daniel’s phone buzzed.
So did mine.
An email.
Scheduled.
Sent to both of us.
Subject:
THE TRUTH ABOUT EMMA.
My blood turned cold.
I opened it.
There was one attachment.
A DNA laboratory report.
I stared at the names.
Sarah Whitmore.
Emma Whitmore.
And beneath them—
May you like
a third name.
Not Daniel.
