Chapter 3 - Three Nights Before BirthEmily had always been a terrible liar.
That was one of the things I loved about her.
Her face betrayed her.
She couldn't hide surprise.
Couldn't hide excitement.
Couldn't hide guilt.
That night, she couldn't hide fear.
I sent my mother home.
She protested.
I threatened to call the police.
She left.
But before she walked through the front door, she looked at Emily and said one thing.
“Tell him yourself.”
Then she disappeared into the night.
I locked the door behind her.
The house became unbearably quiet.
The baby slept upstairs.
The broken camera sat on the kitchen table.
Emily sat across from me.
Her hands wrapped around a mug she wasn't drinking from.
“Where were you three nights before our son was born?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“At the hospital.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“You were admitted the next morning.”
“I know.”
“Where were you?”
She said nothing.
I leaned forward.
“Emily, my mother knows something. Someone put a camera in our bedroom. There was a hidden bottle in your pocket. You're terrified of her. And now she says you're lying about something that happened before our son was born.”
Emily pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
The word hit me harder than I expected.
“Me?”
“I was afraid you wouldn't believe me.”
“Believe what?”
She stood.
Walked to the sink.
Turned on the faucet.
Then turned it off.
“I went to see someone.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I frowned.
Emily's father had died when she was sixteen.
“That's impossible.”
She shook her head.
“Not my biological father.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“My mother's husband.”
The man who had raised her.
The man Emily had always called Dad.
The same man who had died six years earlier.
“He was dead.”
“I know.”
“So who did you meet?”
Emily's lips trembled.
“Someone who claimed to know him.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
I took it.
A parking garage.
A man standing beside a black SUV.
At first, I didn't recognize him.
Then I did.
My mother.
Standing beside him.
And between them was a second person.
A woman.
Young.
Pregnant.
I looked closer.
My blood ran cold.
The pregnant woman was Emily.
“What is this?”
“I met them at a hotel three nights before Ethan was born.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because she said she knew the truth about my father's death.”
“Who?”
Emily stared at the photograph.
“She called herself Mara.”
“Where is she now?”
Emily shook her head.
“She disappeared.”
“Did you tell my mother?”
“No.”
“Then how does she know?”
Emily looked terrified.
“She doesn't just know.”
She swallowed.
“She was there.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then a man's voice whispered:
“Stop asking questions.”
I froze.
The voice continued.
“Your mother isn't the one you should be afraid of.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Emily whispered:
“Daniel…”
“What?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
The nursery door was open.
I knew I had closed it.
I slowly stood.
We walked toward it together.
The baby was still sleeping.
But something else was inside.
A small black envelope had been placed on the changing table.
My name was written on the front.
DANIEL RIVERS.
Inside was a single photograph.
The same parking garage.
But this time, the picture had been taken from inside the SUV.
Someone had circled one person in red.
Me.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE THAT NIGHT.
