Chapter 2 - Four VoicemailsI found Sophie again thirty minutes later.
Not in oncology.
Not in the waiting room.
Not anywhere on the floor where the nurse had taken her.
She had disappeared.
I approached the reception desk.
“I'm looking for Sophie Parker.”
The nurse behind the desk glanced at her screen.
“I'm sorry. Are you family?”
“My name is Ethan Parker.”
She looked at me.
“Former husband.”
Something shifted in her expression.
“I can't give you information.”
“I don't need medical information.”
“Then what do you need?”
I leaned closer.
“I need to know whether she is alone.”
The nurse hesitated.
Then she looked toward the elevator.
“She has a sister?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
I didn't know.
That stopped me cold.
After ten years together, I knew Sophie's favorite coffee order.
I knew she hated thunderstorms.
I knew she slept with one foot outside the blanket.
I knew she cried silently during sad movies.
But I didn't know who her emergency contact was.
I stepped away.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
I walked outside.
The rain had started.
I stood beside the entrance and stared at my phone.
Four deleted voicemails.
I had never listened to them.
I called my carrier and asked whether deleted messages could be recovered.
Normally, they couldn't.
But I had spent enough years in military intelligence to know that deleted didn't always mean gone.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in my car listening to the first recovered message.
Sophie's voice filled the cabin.
“Ethan… it's me.”
She sounded nervous.
“I know you're busy. I'm sorry. Please call me.”
The second message was shorter.
“Something happened at my appointment.”
A pause.
“I need to talk to you.”
The third one came two hours later.
“Ethan, please.”
Her voice cracked.
“This is important.”
Then the fourth.
That one was different.
No hesitation.
No anger.
Just fear.
“If you get this message, don't call me.”
I frowned.
Then her voice dropped.
“Just come home.”
The recording ended.
I stared through the windshield.
Come home.
Not call.
Not text.
Come home.
Why?
What had she been afraid of?
I drove to the apartment where Sophie had been living after the divorce.
The building manager refused to let me in.
I showed my military identification.
Still no.
So I waited.
Two hours later, a woman came through the lobby.
Late forties.
Dark hair.
She looked exactly like Sophie around the eyes.
“You're Ethan.”
I stood.
“Yes.”
She studied me.
Then she said:
“You finally came.”
My chest tightened.
“Who are you?”
“Claire.”
Sophie had never mentioned her.
“You're her sister.”
Claire nodded.
“Half sister.”
She folded her arms.
“I wondered how long it would take.”
“How long for what?”
“For you to discover she was dying.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
“How serious is it?”
Claire looked away.
“You shouldn't be asking me.”
“Then who should I ask?”
“Sophie.”
“I tried.”
“And she doesn't want you involved.”
“She called me four times.”
Claire's expression changed.
“You listened?”
“Yes.”
Her face went pale.
“You shouldn't have recovered those.”
“Why?”
Claire took a step toward me.
“Because those weren't the only calls.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“She called you twelve times.”
My throat tightened.
“Four came through?”
Claire nodded.
“The others came from a different number.”
“Whose?”
“My doctor.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What doctor?”
Claire looked around the lobby.
“Not here.”
She walked toward the exit.
I followed.
Outside, the rain had become heavier.
We stood beneath the awning.
Claire whispered:
“Sophie doesn't only have cancer.”
“What else?”
“Her doctor believes the cancer may have been triggered by something.”
“What?”
“We don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know?”
Claire looked directly at me.
“Because the lab report disappeared.”
My military instincts kicked in.
“Disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“The hospital lost it?”
“No.”
Claire lowered her voice.
“Someone removed it.”
A car passed on the street.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Claire pulled something from her purse.
An envelope.
She handed it to me.
My name was written across the front.
Ethan Parker.
My hands shook.
“Where did you get this?”
“Sophie gave it to me two weeks ago.”
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“She told me not to.”
“Then why now?”
Claire stared toward the hospital.
“Because she might not have much time.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
I stared at it.
It showed Sophie sitting in a doctor's office.
Eight months earlier.
Before the divorce.
Before the cancer.
Before everything.
Beside her sat a man I didn't recognize.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
Three words.
WORDS YOU FORGOT.
I looked at Claire.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then her phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed almost immediately.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“What?”
She stood very still.
Then she looked at me.
“They found him.”
“Who?”
Claire ended the call.
“The doctor.”
“What about him?”
May you like
Her voice was trembling.
“He's dead.”
