Chapter 3 - The Secret Inside My Mother's Closet
My mother had never sounded so frightened.
I stood behind the dugout with the phone pressed against my ear.
"Mom, what are you talking about?"
She didn't answer immediately.
I heard voices in the background.
Someone asked whether she was all right.
She said she needed a minute.
Then she returned to the call.
"Malik, stay with Coach Ellis."
"Why?"
"Promise me."
I looked toward the field.
Ryan Cole was nowhere to be seen.
"Mom, did Ryan hurt Dad?"
Her breath caught.
"Please don't ask me that over the phone."
"Then tell me what happened."
"I will."
"When?"
"Tonight."
I closed my eyes.
For fourteen years, she had avoided every question about my father.
Now she was promising answers.
I wanted to believe her.
But I was afraid she'd change her mind.
"Mom, no more secrets."
Her voice broke.
"No more secrets, baby."
The call ended.
I stood there for several seconds.
Then Coach Ellis approached.
"You okay, champ?"
I shook my head.
He put a hand on my shoulder.
"Want to sit down?"
I looked at him.
"Did you know my dad was dead?"
His face changed.
"No."
I searched his eyes.
He looked genuinely shocked.
"Your mother never told me much about him."
I swallowed.
"Everybody keeps saying that."
Coach Ellis sighed.
"Sometimes grown people carry things they don't know how to explain."
I looked away.
"That doesn't make it fair."
"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't."
We returned to the field for the charity presentation.
The event organizer announced that the Eastside Eagles would receive the ten-thousand-dollar donation.
The crowd cheered.
My teammates jumped into the air.
Coach Ellis nearly cried.
A photographer positioned us behind the giant ceremonial check.
Ryan Cole wasn't there.
Another representative signed on behalf of the foundation, explaining that the donation would be processed through the event organizers.
I smiled for the photograph.
But my mind was somewhere else.
Afterward, Walter found me near the equipment room.
He held a small envelope.
"Malik, can we talk?"
I looked at him.
"About my father?"
He nodded.
Coach Ellis stayed nearby.
Walter opened the envelope.
Inside was an old photograph.
Three men stood on a baseball field.
Walter looked younger.
Ryan Cole stood beside him, wearing a training uniform.
And between them was a tall Black man with short curls and a wide smile.
He looked so much like me that my breath stopped.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same shape of the mouth.
I reached for the photograph.
"That's him?"
Walter nodded.
"Isaiah Carter."
My fingers trembled.
I had never seen my father's face before.
Not once.
I stared at the photograph.
He was smiling.
Holding a baseball.
Looking completely alive.
"Can I keep it?"
Walter's eyes filled.
"Of course."
I pressed it against my chest.
Then I looked at him.
"What happened to him?"
Walter glanced toward Coach Ellis.
Then back at me.
"Your father was injured during a private training session."
My stomach tightened.
"What kind of injury?"
Walter's expression darkened.
"There was an accident at a pitching facility."
I waited.
"He suffered a serious head injury."
My throat closed.
"Did he die there?"
"No. He died several weeks later."
I stared at the photograph.
"Was Ryan there?"
Walter hesitated.
"Yes."
My heart hammered.
"Did Ryan cause it?"
Walter looked away.
"I don't know exactly what happened."
I stared at him.
"But you know something."
He nodded slowly.
"I know there were questions that never got answered."
Before I could ask more, he handed me another item.
A small baseball.
The leather was yellowed with age.
Written across it in faded blue ink were two words.
For Malik.
I stared.
My name.
On a baseball that looked older than I was.
My heart began pounding.
"How did he know my name?"
Walter swallowed.
"Your mother told him what she planned to call you."
I looked up.
"Before I was born?"
He nodded.
"Isaiah talked about you constantly."
My eyes filled.
"He knew about me?"
Walter smiled sadly.
"He was excited to become a father."
I couldn't breathe.
All my life, I had imagined a man who didn't want me.
Now I was holding proof that he had.
I wiped my eyes.
"Why didn't Mom tell me?"
Walter looked toward the parking lot.
"Maybe she was trying to protect you from something."
I stared at him.
"From what?"
He didn't answer.
That night, my mother came home earlier than usual.
She had asked a coworker to cover the end of her shift.
I was sitting at the kitchen table.
The photograph lay in front of me.
The baseball rested beside it.
When Mom walked in, she stopped.
Her eyes went straight to the photograph.
Then she covered her mouth.
"Oh, Isaiah."
Her knees seemed to weaken.
I stood quickly.
"Mom?"
She sat down.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
For a long time, she simply stared at the photograph.
Then she reached out and touched my father's face.
"I haven't seen this picture in years."
I sat across from her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She closed her eyes.
"Because I was afraid."
"Of what?"
She looked at me.
"Of losing you too."
My stomach tightened.
"What does that mean?"
She wiped her face.
Then took a deep breath.
"Your father wasn't a man who abandoned us."
I nodded.
"I know that now."
"He loved you before you were born."
My throat tightened.
"He used to put his hand on my stomach and talk to you every night."
I looked down at the baseball.
Mom continued.
"He promised he'd teach you how to throw."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Did he know he was going to the majors?"
She smiled sadly.
"He was close."
"What happened?"
Her expression changed.
She looked toward the window.
"Isaiah and Ryan were competing for the same opportunity."
I leaned forward.
"What opportunity?"
"A professional contract with an organization that wanted to develop a new starting pitcher."
I nodded.
"Who got it?"
Mom looked at the photograph.
"Ryan."
My stomach tightened.
"Because Dad got hurt?"
She nodded.
"After the accident, Isaiah couldn't play."
I stared at her.
"Was it really an accident?"
She was silent.
Then she whispered, "That's what they told everyone."
I felt cold.
"What did you believe?"
Mom's eyes filled.
"I believed your father was trying to tell me something before he died."
My heart began pounding.
"What?"
She stood slowly.
Walked toward her bedroom.
Then returned carrying a small metal box.
She placed it on the table.
I stared.
"What is that?"
"Everything I kept."
She opened it.
Inside were letters.
Medical records.
Photographs.
And a small digital voice recorder.
My breath caught.
"What's on that?"
Mom looked at me.
"Your father's last message."
I stared at her.
"For me?"
She nodded.
My hands began shaking.
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
She started crying.
"Because I couldn't bear to hear it again."
I reached toward the recorder.
Mom caught my hand.
"Malik, listen to me first."
I looked up.
"Your father knew something was wrong at that training facility."
My heart hammered.
"He suspected someone had changed the pitching equipment before his accident."
I stared.
"Who?"
Mom's voice broke.
"He never said for certain."
I looked at the recorder.
Then pressed play.
Static filled the kitchen.
A man's voice followed.
Weak.
Breathless.
But unmistakably real.
"Angela..."
My mother began sobbing.
The voice continued.
"If anything happens to me, don't let them bury what happened."
I held my breath.
Then my father's voice grew quieter.
"And please..."
A long pause.
"Tell Malik I loved him before I ever saw his face."
I covered my mouth.
Then the recording continued.
"There's something wrong with the training footage."
May you like
My heart stopped.
"I saw Ryan take the camera card."
