Chapter 3
Daniel almost missed the red light.
“Watch out!”
He slammed on the brakes.
The car stopped inches before the intersection.
My hand flew to my stomach.
Our daughter kicked hard.
Daniel looked at me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t.
Neither was he.
His phone sat between us with Patricia’s message glowing on the screen.
ASK EMILY WHO HER REAL FATHER IS.
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“Do you know what she means?”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I swear.”
He stared at me.
I could see him trying to decide whether he believed me.
That hurt more than I expected.
“I only found out my mother wasn’t biologically related to me four days ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because everything was happening at once.”
“What everything?”
“My contractions. Your mother moving in. The doctor ordering bed rest. Then Patricia started talking about the house.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of what it meant.”
Daniel looked away.
The light turned green.
He drove.
Neither of us spoke until we reached the hospital.
A nurse rushed me into maternity triage.
My contractions were six minutes apart.
Too close.
Too early.
Daniel stayed beside me while monitors were strapped around my stomach.
The nurse frowned at the readings.
“We’re going to give you medication and fluids.”
“Is the baby okay?”
“Her heart rate looks good.”
I breathed out.
Daniel squeezed my hand.
Then the nurse noticed my swollen fingers.
“What happened here?”
Daniel stiffened.
I looked at him.
“My mother-in-law stepped on my hand.”
The nurse stopped typing.
“She what?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It isn’t complicated.”
She looked at Daniel.
“Do you live with the person who did this?”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Was there any trauma to your abdomen?”
“No.”
“Any pushing? Falling?”
“No.”
The nurse looked at me carefully.
“Do you feel safe going home?”
Before I could answer, Daniel said, “She will.”
I squeezed his hand.
The doctor arrived twenty minutes later.
After an examination, she confirmed I wasn't in active labor yet.
But I was close enough that she wanted observation.
“You need complete rest,” she said firmly.
Daniel nodded.
“She will have it.”
The doctor looked directly at him.
“No stress. No lifting. No cleaning. No unnecessary physical activity.”
His jaw tightened.
“I understand.”
Patricia’s face flashed through my mind.
Her shoe.
Her voice.
Faster.
I closed my eyes.
Daniel noticed.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“For leaving you alone with her.”
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
He sat beside the bed.
“I knew she was difficult.”
“That’s one word.”
“I kept telling myself she was grieving Dad.”
“She’s been grieving him for three years.”
“I know.”
He looked ashamed.
“She always had an excuse. And I kept accepting it.”
His phone vibrated.
We both looked.
Another message from Patricia.
DON’T OPEN THE DESK IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR MARRIAGE.
Daniel laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“She tells me to open it. Now she tells me not to.”
“She wants control.”
“She has always wanted control.”
He looked at me.
“She used to pick my girlfriends.”
I almost smiled.
“What?”
“Seriously.”
“You never told me that.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“What happened when you dated someone she didn’t like?”
“She found a reason to destroy it.”
My stomach sank.
“Daniel…”
“I know.”
He stared at his phone.
“I should’ve seen it.”
Then another message arrived.
This one included a photograph.
Daniel opened it.
His entire body went rigid.
“What is it?”
He turned the phone slowly.
The photo looked old.
Maybe thirty years old.
A younger Patricia stood beside a man in front of a cabin.
The man was smiling.
Patricia wasn't.
But I recognized him anyway.
I had seen that face in childhood photographs.
My father.
Robert Hayes.
The man who raised me.
The man who died when I was nineteen.
“No,” I whispered.
Daniel zoomed in.
Written on the back of the photograph were three words.
SUMMER OF 1992.
I was born in 1993.
Daniel looked at me.
“Your father knew my mother?”
“I never knew that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she have this?”
“I don’t know.”
The hospital room suddenly felt too small.
Daniel called Patricia.
She answered immediately.
“So you finally want to listen.”
“What is this picture?”
“You opened the message.”
“Who was Robert Hayes to you?”
Patricia went silent.
“Mom.”
“Ask your wife.”
“She doesn’t know!”
“You believe that?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice surprised me.
Patricia heard it too.
Her tone changed.
“You’ve always been naive.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“You want truth?”
“Yes.”
“Open your father’s desk.”
“You just told me not to.”
“Because once you know, you can’t unknow it.”
Daniel gripped the phone.
“Enough games.”
Patricia laughed softly.
“Your father spent thirty years protecting you.”
“Protecting me from what?”
“From the woman lying in that hospital bed.”
I grabbed Daniel’s wrist.
“Put her on speaker.”
He did.
“Patricia,” I said.
“Oh, Emily. Still pretending?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know more than you think.”
“Then tell us.”
She paused.
“Who gave you the house?”
“My father.”
“No.”
My breath caught.
She continued.
“Your father gave you money toward it.”
“Yes.”
“But who owned the land before the house was built?”
I looked at Daniel.
He looked equally confused.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
Patricia’s voice became almost calm.
“That land belonged to your father’s family.”
Daniel sat up straighter.
“No, it didn’t.”
“Check the county records.”
“Why would Emily’s father have it?”
“Because your father sold it to him.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why?”
“For one dollar.”
Silence.
My skin prickled.
Daniel whispered, “Why would Dad do that?”
Patricia answered immediately.
“Because Robert knew something.”
“What?”
“Something that could have destroyed our family.”
The line went dead.
Daniel called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I stared at the photograph.
My father and Patricia.
Summer of 1992.
Then something from my childhood returned to me.
A memory.
I was maybe seven.
My parents were arguing in the kitchen.
I had heard my mother say, “Robert, you promised that woman would never come near Emily.”
At the time, I assumed she meant some random woman.
A coworker.
A relative.
Someone I didn’t know.
Now my chest tightened.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“I remember something.”
I told him.
He went still.
“What woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could it have been my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
The nurse entered and checked my monitor.
“Your contractions are slowing.”
Relief flooded through me.
But only briefly.
Daniel was staring at the photograph.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“When did your dad die?”
“Nine years ago.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Where?”
“Outside Mill Creek.”
His eyes lifted.
“My father was there that night.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“He came home at three in the morning.”
“How do you know?”
“I was still living with them.”
Daniel stood.
“He had mud on his shoes. Mom was screaming at him.”
My pulse quickened.
“What were they fighting about?”
“I couldn't hear everything.”
“Anything.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Then he opened them.
“I heard Dad say…”
He swallowed.
“…‘Robert is dead because you wouldn’t leave it alone.’”
The monitor beside me started beeping faster.
The nurse turned.
“Mrs. Walker, try to relax.”
Relax?
My father had died on a dark road after meeting someone from Daniel’s family.
Patricia had his photograph.
Daniel’s father had apparently blamed Patricia.
And now Patricia was trying to take my home.
The pieces didn’t fit.
But they were pieces of the same puzzle.
I knew that much.
The doctor kept me overnight.
By morning, the contractions had nearly stopped.
She allowed me to go home under strict instructions.
My sister, Rachel, agreed to stay with me.
Daniel wanted to go directly to his father’s old study.
The room was in Patricia’s house.
Not ours.
That complicated things.
“She gave you the key,” I said.
“She wanted me to go.”
“Or she wanted you arrested for breaking in.”
He looked at me.
“You think she’d do that?”
“I think your mother stepped on a pregnant woman’s hand.”
He nodded slowly.
“Fair point.”
So we didn't go.
Instead, Daniel searched the county property records online.
Patricia had told the truth.
The parcel beneath our house had once belonged to the Walker family.
Daniel’s grandfather had owned it.
Then Daniel’s father, Thomas.
In 1994, Thomas Walker transferred the land to Robert Hayes.
Sale price?
One dollar.
Daniel leaned back from the laptop.
“Oh my God.”
I covered my mouth.
A second document was attached.
A handwritten note had been scanned with the deed.
It read:
Transfer made in settlement of private family matter.
Daniel whispered, “Private family matter.”
Then Rachel arrived.
She hugged me carefully.
“What happened to your hand?”
Before I could answer, Daniel said, “My mother.”
Rachel’s face darkened.
“I knew that woman was insane.”
Daniel almost smiled.
Then Rachel saw the photograph on the table.
Her expression disappeared.
“What?”
I followed her gaze.
“You recognize it?”
Rachel stepped closer.
“Where did you get that?”
“Patricia sent it.”
Rachel went pale.
“Rachel?”
She looked at me.
Then Daniel.
Then back at the photograph.
“Mom had one like this.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She kept it in her jewelry box.”
“How do you know?”
“I found it after she died.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because there was writing on the back.”
“What did it say?”
Rachel looked terrified.
“Not Summer of 1992.”
She pointed at Patricia.
“It said…”
May you like
Her voice broke.
“…DON’T LET HER TAKE EMILY.”
