Chapter 2
The garage tilted.
I read the sentence again.
Then again.
The words stayed the same.
I did not die the way everyone believes.
My hands began to shake.
Dad stepped toward me.
“Emma, please.”
I backed away until my shoulder hit the shelves.
“What does this mean?”
Vanessa’s voice cut in.
“It means your mother was sick and confused.”
I looked at her.
“You didn’t even know this letter existed five seconds ago.”
Her mouth tightened.
Dad whispered, “Emma.”
“No. You talk now.”
His eyes filled.
“I wanted to protect you.”
That sentence made something inside me snap.
“From my dead mother?”
Vanessa said, “From obsession.”
I ignored her and unfolded the letter.
Dad looked like he might collapse.
I read aloud.
Your father thinks silence is mercy. He is wrong. If I do not survive, I need you to know I was afraid before I was diagnosed. I was tired, dizzy, confused. I thought it was grief. Then I found the pills.
My mouth went dry.
“What pills?”
Dad closed his eyes.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“This is cruel. Richard, stop her.”
He did not move.
I kept reading.
They were not mine. They were in the cabinet above the laundry room, hidden in an old vitamin bottle. I asked your father. He said I was imagining things. I wanted to believe him. Then I saw Vanessa in the house when she was not supposed to be there.
I looked up.
Vanessa’s face had gone white.
“You knew my mother?”
Vanessa laughed once.
“How dramatic. Everyone in town knew your mother.”
“No. Did you come to this house while she was sick?”
Dad sat down on an old toolbox.
He looked like an old man suddenly.
“I made mistakes.”
My breath stopped.
“What mistakes?”
He covered his face.
Vanessa stepped in front of him.
“Your father had a life before he became your caretaker.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Dad said, “Vanessa and I…”
He could not finish.
But I understood.
I understood so fast I wished I didn’t.
“You were sleeping with her while Mom was dying?”
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“I was lonely.”
I slapped him.
The sound echoed off the garage walls.
Vanessa gasped.
Dad did not defend himself.
He held his cheek and cried silently.
I wanted to feel guilty.
I didn’t.
I lifted the letter again.
If Vanessa becomes part of your life after I am gone, do not trust her. I have no proof strong enough to save myself. But I have hidden what I found in the place only you and I know.
The place only you and I know.
My heart pounded.
Mom and I had a place.
The rose bench.
When I was little, we hid treasures under the loose brick beneath the garden bench.
A plastic ring.
A baby tooth.
A note that said Emma was here.
I looked toward the backyard.
Vanessa saw my eyes move.
“No,” she said.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
I ran.
Dad shouted my name.
Vanessa grabbed my arm as I passed.
I yanked free.
“Touch me again and I call the police.”
She let go.
I burst through the back door into the garden.
The roses were still there.
Overgrown.
Neglected.
Mom’s bench sat beneath the old maple tree, paint peeling from the arms.
I dropped to my knees and clawed at the dirt under the left leg.
The loose brick was still there.
My fingers found the edge.
I pulled.
Underneath was a plastic freezer bag.
Inside was a small notebook, a flash drive, and a folded photo.
I pulled the photo out first.
Vanessa stood at our kitchen window.
Younger.
Smiling.
Holding a bottle.
The date printed on the back was two months before Mom died.
My stomach twisted.
Dad reached the garden, breathless.
Vanessa stood behind him, face rigid.
I held up the photo.
“You lied.”
Dad stared at it.
“I never saw that.”
Vanessa said, “It proves nothing.”
I opened the notebook.
Mom’s handwriting filled the pages.
Dates.
Symptoms.
Medication changes.
Visits.
Phone calls.
One line near the end made my vision blur.
Richard says I am paranoid. But he has stopped looking me in the eye.
Dad sank onto the bench.
“Oh God.”
I looked at him with hate rising hot in my chest.
“You didn’t believe her.”
He sobbed.
“I thought the illness had reached her mind.”
“You chose your mistress over your wife.”
Vanessa snapped, “Enough.”
I turned on her.
“No. Enough was when you took her pictures down. Enough was when you packed her life in a box. Enough was when you stood in her house pretending you belonged here more than she did.”
Her mask cracked.
“This house should have been mine years ago.”
Silence.
Even Dad stopped crying.
Vanessa realized what she had said.
I held the notebook against my chest.
“Now we’re finally getting honest.”
She stepped toward me.
“You have no idea what that woman put him through.”
“My mother was dying.”
“She was weak.”
Dad looked up sharply.
“Vanessa.”
Her eyes flashed.
“She was. Always delicate. Always tragic. Always making everyone circle around her pain.”
I pulled out my phone.
Vanessa froze.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Detective Mara Price.”
Dad’s head snapped up.
“You still know Mara?”
“She was Mom’s best friend.”
Vanessa went still.
For the first time, fear fully crossed her face.
I pressed call.
When Mara answered, I said, “I found my mother’s letter.”
May you like
There was a pause.
Then Mara whispered, “I’ve been waiting eight years for that call.”
