Chapter 3: The Woman in My Father's Photograph
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
I stared at the photograph.
Claire stood beside my father.
Not at our wedding.
Not at some family gathering.
Not in a photograph I had ever seen.
The picture was older.
Much older.
Claire looked younger, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five.
My father stood beside her with one hand resting on the back of a chair.
On the back of the photograph, written in my father's unmistakable handwriting, were seven words:
She came to your father before she met you.
I read them again.
Then again.
My mind refused to connect the pieces.
Claire had told me she first met my father after we were engaged.
That had been five years ago.
She said they had spoken for only twenty minutes.
She said my father had been polite but distant.
Yet the photograph showed something completely different.
They looked familiar with each other.
Too familiar.
I turned toward my mother.
“What is this?”
Evelyn didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Her eyes were fixed on the photograph.
“What is this?”
She slowly lowered the gun.
“You weren't supposed to find that.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“It isn't.”
I stepped closer.
“How long did Claire know Dad?”
My mother looked away.
“Before you.”
“How long?”
She closed her eyes.
“Years.”
My stomach dropped.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You knew Claire knew my father before she met me?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
My mother looked at me.
“From the truth.”
I laughed bitterly.
“The truth already put my pregnant wife in a coffin.”
She flinched.
I held up the photograph.
“Who is the man standing behind them?”
My mother stared at it.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to understand that there are things you should leave buried.”
I stepped toward her.
“Dad is dead.”
“So is the person who took that photograph.”
“Who?”
My mother didn't answer.
Then I heard a faint click.
Not from the gun.
From the metal box beneath the floor.
I turned.
The box had a combination lock.
Three numbers.
I looked at the photograph again.
There was a date written in the corner.
07-19-2018.
I entered the numbers.
Click.
The box opened.
Inside was a small USB drive, a folded document, and a hospital bracelet.
I picked up the bracelet.
The plastic was yellowed with age.
The name printed on it was:
CLAIRE BENNETT
My heart stopped.
Bennett.
Claire's maiden name.
The date was eight years earlier.
She had told me she had never been hospitalized before meeting me.
I looked at my mother.
“She lied.”
My mother said nothing.
I unfolded the document.
It was a medical record.
A pregnancy record.
My hands began shaking.
The patient's name was Claire Bennett.
Estimated age: twenty-four.
Pregnancy status: confirmed.
I couldn't read the next line.
My vision blurred.
I forced myself to focus.
Estimated gestational age: 11 weeks.
I looked at the date.
Eight years ago.
Claire had been pregnant.
Before she met me.
I felt the room become unbearably small.
“Who was the father?”
My mother whispered,
“I don't know.”
I looked at her.
“You know everything else.”
“I don't.”
“Then tell me why Dad had this.”
“I don't know.”
“Why did Claire come to him?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did she hide the pregnancy?”
My mother remained silent.
I grabbed the USB drive.
“What is this?”
“Don't open it.”
I smiled coldly.
“That seems to be the family motto.”
I reached for my laptop.
My mother moved toward me.
“Daniel.”
I plugged the drive in.
A single video file appeared.
No name.
No timestamp.
I clicked it.
My father's face appeared on the screen.
He was sitting behind his desk.
He looked exhausted.
Older than I remembered.
The video quality was poor.
His voice was quiet.
“If you're watching this, then I'm probably dead.”
My chest tightened.
My father continued.
“Daniel, there is something I failed to tell you.”
He paused.
“I was not the only person who knew about Claire.”
I glanced at my mother.
She was crying now.
For the first time that night.
My father continued.
“Eight years ago, Claire came to me because she was pregnant.”
I stopped the video.
I stared at my mother.
“Who was the father?”
She whispered,
“Daniel...”
“Who?”
“I can't.”
“Who?”
She finally said it.
“Your brother.”
Everything inside me went silent.
Nathan.
My brother.
I shook my head.
“No.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“It wasn't what you think.”
“How could it possibly be anything else?”
“Your father believed Nathan had been manipulated.”
“By Claire?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
My mother looked toward the doorway.
“Someone who has been controlling this family for years.”
I stood.
“Who?”
Before she could answer, headlights swept across the study window.
A vehicle had stopped outside.
My mother immediately extinguished the lamp.
“Don't move.”
I whispered,
“Who is that?”
She looked terrified.
“I don't know.”
The front door opened downstairs.
Then footsteps.
Several people.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“There's a passage behind the bookcase.”
“What?”
“Your father built it.”
“Why?”
“To escape.”
“From whom?”
She looked at me.
“From the people who are coming upstairs.”
The footsteps reached the hallway.
A man's voice echoed through the house.
“Daniel!”
I recognized the voice.
Nathan.
My brother.
He called again.
“Daniel, I know you're in there.”
I looked at my mother.
“You said Nathan was involved.”
“I said he was being controlled.”
“What's the difference?”
My mother shoved the bookcase.
A hidden door opened.
“Go.”
“No.”
“Daniel, if they find that drive, Claire dies.”
I froze.
“What did you say?”
She looked at me.
“The people who took Claire aren't trying to kill her yet.”
“Then what do they want?”
“They want what your father hid.”
“What?”
My mother pointed toward the metal box.
“The identity of Claire's first child.”
My blood ran cold.
“Her first child?”
She nodded.
“Claire didn't lose that baby.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She gave birth.”
My mother's voice broke.
“And that child has been alive for eight years.”
I couldn't speak.
My father knew.
Claire knew.
My mother knew.
But I didn't.
Then Nathan's footsteps stopped outside the study.
The doorknob turned.
My mother pushed me into the hidden passage.
“Go!”
I grabbed her wrist.
“You're coming with me.”
She shook her head.
“They'll know.”
“Mom!”
“Find Claire.”
The door began opening.
My mother slammed the hidden panel shut.
Darkness swallowed me.
I heard Nathan enter the study.
“Where is he?”
My mother answered calmly.
“Who?”
“Daniel.”
“He left.”
Silence.
Then Nathan said,
“You're still protecting him.”
My mother didn't respond.
I moved through the narrow passage.
My father's old escape tunnel smelled like dust and damp wood.
At the end was another door.
I opened it.
It led outside.
I ran to my car.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the keys.
I drove straight back to the hospital.
When I arrived, two police officers were standing near the emergency department.
One of them approached me.
“Mr. Parker?”
“Yes.”
“We need you to come with us.”
“Why?”
The officer looked uncomfortable.
“There's been a development.”
My heart sank.
“What happened?”
“Your wife woke up.”
For the first time that night, hope surged through me.
“She's awake?”
The officer nodded.
“But she asked for you.”
I ran toward Claire's room.
She was pale.
Weak.
But her eyes were open.
I took her hand.
“Claire.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You came.”
“Of course I came.”
I leaned closer.
“Who did this to you?”
She looked toward the door.
Then whispered,
“You have to listen to me.”
“I am.”
“No matter what your mother tells you...”
She squeezed my hand.
“Don't trust Nathan.”
“I know.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Her breathing became faster.
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Nathan wasn't the one who put me in the coffin.”
I froze.
“Then who?”
Claire's eyes filled with fear.
She whispered four words.
“The father of my son.”
I couldn't move.
“What?”
Claire looked at my stomach.
Then back at me.
“The baby you're waiting for isn't yours.”
May you like
The heart monitor suddenly began screaming.
And before I could ask another question, Claire lost consciousness.
