CHAPTER 4 The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
CHAPTER 4
The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Not Sarah.
Not my father.
Not me.
The hospital room felt like it had stopped existing.
There was only the image on Sarah's phone.
A blurry figure standing on the Whitmore estate deck.
The silver rose pendant hanging around her neck.
Grandma Rose's necklace.
The necklace that was supposed to be buried with her.
My mind tried to reject what my eyes were seeing.
It searched for another explanation.
A mistake.
A reflection.
A coincidence.
Anything.
Because the alternative was impossible.
"My grandmother is dead," I whispered.
Sarah nodded slowly.
"I know."
"She was buried."
"I know."
"Then explain that."
Nobody answered.
Because nobody could.
My father took the phone from Sarah's hand.
His face changed the moment he saw the image.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
And that terrified me.
"You know something."
My father's eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
"Harold."
He looked at me.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
"That isn't your grandmother."
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
"What?"
He handed the phone back.
"That necklace isn't the only thing that matters."
Sarah stepped closer.
"What do you mean?"
My father looked exhausted.
"Rose had several identical necklaces made."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because she believed jewelry was an easy way for people to manipulate emotions."
I almost laughed.
"Grandma made fake jewelry?"
"No."
He shook his head.
"She made copies."
"Why?"
My father looked at me.
"Because she knew someone might try to use her identity."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Someone pretending to be her?"
He didn't answer.
But his silence did.
Three years earlier.
Grandma Rose had changed.
At least that's what everyone thought.
She became more private.
More careful.
She stopped attending family events.
She changed passwords.
She started locking rooms in her own house.
My mother called it paranoia.
My father called it stress.
Tyler called it old age.
But I remembered something different.
One night, I visited Grandma unexpectedly.
I found her sitting in her study.
The lights were off.
She was staring at a stack of documents.
"Grandma?"
She quickly closed the folder.
Too quickly.
"What are you doing here?"
I smiled.
"Visiting you."
She looked nervous.
That was unusual.
Grandma Rose was never nervous.
"Bridget, if someone ever tells you I became confused at the end of my life..."
She paused.
"Don't believe them."
I laughed.
"Why would anyone say that?"
She looked at me.
"Because people rewrite history when the truth becomes inconvenient."
At the time, I thought she was being dramatic.
Now...
I wasn't so sure.
Back in the hospital, Sarah placed the phone down.
"The police are investigating the footage."
"Good."
My father looked at me.
"No."
The word surprised me.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"Not the police."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because if someone was able to access the security system, delete footage, and manipulate information..."
He looked toward the hallway.
"...then they may already know what evidence exists."
My chest tightened.
"You think someone inside the police department is involved?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"I think someone powerful is scared."
The room became quiet.
Then Sarah's radio crackled.
She stepped away to answer.
A few seconds later, her expression changed.
"Bridget."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"The police found something else."
"What?"
She looked at my father.
Then back at me.
"The person in the footage wasn't just wearing your grandmother's necklace."
My eyebrows pulled together.
"What else?"
"They checked the timestamps."
My heart started beating faster.
"And?"
Sarah swallowed.
"The footage was recorded two days after your grandmother's funeral."
My blood ran cold.
Two days after.
Impossible.
My grandmother had been gone.
Unless...
Someone wanted everyone to believe she was gone.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The hospital room was dark except for the small light beside my bed.
My body was exhausted.
My mind wasn't.
Every memory I had of my family was changing.
Every conversation.
Every smile.
Every moment.
A question kept repeating.
How long had they been lying to me?
Around midnight, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then something made me answer.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Only breathing.
"Who is this?"
A voice finally spoke.
An older woman's voice.
A voice I knew.
A voice I had heard thousands of times.
My hand froze.
"Bridget..."
The phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
Because that voice...
Was impossible.
"Grandma?"
A pause.
Then:
"Don't trust your father."
My heart stopped.
"Where are you?"
Silence.
"Grandma, where are you?"
The voice became urgent.
"You need to listen carefully."
I couldn't move.
"Who are you?"
Another pause.
Then she said:
"The person who fell from that deck was never supposed to be you."
My breathing became shallow.
"What does that mean?"
A sound came from her side.
Like someone opening a door.
Her voice dropped.
"They know I contacted you."
"Who?"
The line became distorted.
"Bridget, find the original will."
I gripped the phone.
"What original will?"
"The one your family doesn't know exists."
My heart raced.
"Grandma, wait!"
But before she disconnected, I heard one final sentence.
A sentence that would haunt me.
"The woman who signed your inheritance papers..."
A pause.
"...wasn't me."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to think.
Because now I had a new question.
If Grandma Rose was alive...
Who was the woman we buried?
And if someone had been pretending to be my grandmother...
How long had my entire family known?
The hospital door suddenly opened.
I looked up.
A nurse stood there.
But something was wrong.
She wasn't carrying medicine.
She wasn't checking my charts.
She was holding an envelope.
A black envelope.
With a silver rose symbol pressed into the front.
The same symbol Grandma used.
The nurse walked closer.
"I'm sorry, Bridget."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"But you need to see this before they find out I brought it."
My fingers trembled.
"Who sent it?"
The nurse looked at the hallway.
Then quietly answered:
"Your grandmother."
I opened the envelope.
And inside was a photograph.
A photograph taken twenty-five years ago.
My family standing together.
My mother.
My father.
Tyler.
Me.
And standing behind us...
A woman I had never seen before.
A woman who looked exactly like my grandmother.
Except for one terrifying detail.
The woman in the photo was holding a baby.
A baby with a hospital bracelet.
The name written on it was:
BRIDGET WHITMORE.
But the date on the photograph...
May you like
Was five years before I was born.
TO BE CONTINUED
