Chapter 2 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPHMy father stared at me as if I had become a stranger.

“Sarah.”

I couldn't answer.

Mark leaned against the dining table.

He looked almost relaxed now.

As if the fight, the blood, the police that would probably arrive soon, none of it mattered.

Because he believed he had finally won.

“You should tell him,” Mark said.

“Tell me what?” my father demanded.

I shook my head.

“Not here.”

Mark laughed.

“Why not?”

Because some secrets become more dangerous when spoken aloud.

I knew that.

I had spent nine years protecting mine.

My father looked at the photograph he had pulled from the envelope.

A younger version of me stood in front of a lake.

I was twenty-four.

Smiling.

Pregnant.

And standing beside me was a man I had not seen in nine years.

Michael Carter.

My father had never met him.

Mark had.

That was the part that terrified me most.

“Who is he?” Dad asked.

I swallowed.

“His name is Michael.”

Mark interrupted.

“His name is Michael Carter.”

My father turned.

“How do you know him?”

Mark smiled.

“Because I spent nine years making sure he stayed away.”

Silence swallowed the room.

My father looked at me.

“You knew?”

I nodded.

“How long?”

“Nine years.”

“And you never told me?”

“I was trying to protect Emma.”

“From what?”

Mark answered for me.

“From her real father.”

My father stepped toward him.

“You blackmailed her?”

Mark said nothing.

That was answer enough.

I finally whispered, “It wasn't only blackmail.”

My father's voice softened.

“What did he have?”

I stared at the floor.

“Everything.”

Mark's smile faded.

“Tell him.”

I looked at Emma.

She was sitting on the staircase, listening.

Her small hands were wrapped around her rabbit.

I walked toward her.

“Emma, sweetheart, go to your room.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Why did Daddy say I have another father?”

My heart cracked.

Mark looked away.

My father closed his eyes.

Emma stared directly at me.

“Mommy?”

I knelt in front of her.

“Your dad is still your dad.”

“But you said he wasn't.”

“I said…”

I couldn't finish.

She started crying.

“I want the truth.”

Before I could answer, sirens approached outside.

Mark's expression hardened.

He knew the police were coming.

He pushed away from the table.

Then he whispered something only I could hear.

“You have five minutes to tell your father the whole story.”

“Why?”

“Because if I go to jail, Michael won't be the worst thing you have to worry about.”

My blood went cold.

“What did you do?”

Mark smiled.

“Nothing.”

He raised a finger.

“Yet.”

The police arrived.

They separated us.

Mark was taken outside.

My father stayed with Emma.

I remained in the kitchen staring at that red folder.

Inside it was another photograph.

One I had not seen in years.

Michael and me.

Standing outside a motel.

The date was written on the back.

Three weeks before Emma was born.

I turned it over.

There was a message.

HE KNOWS ABOUT THE MONEY.

My father read it over my shoulder.

“What money?”

I said nothing.

He looked at me.

“What money, Sarah?”

Before I could answer, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Instead, I answered.

A man's voice came through.

“Sarah?”

My heart stopped.

I hadn't heard that voice in nine years.

“Michael?”

“Yes.”

My father stared at me.

I could barely breathe.

“Where are you?”

He laughed softly.

“That's the wrong question.”

“What do you want?”

“I want my daughter.”

My throat tightened.

“You can't just come back.”

“I never left.”

My blood turned to ice.

“What does that mean?”

“I've been watching.”

I felt sick.

“Watching what?”

“The house.”

“The police.”

“Mark.”

Then silence.

“Michael?”

His voice returned.

“Get Emma out of that house tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because Mark didn't marry you because he loved you.”

I closed my eyes.

“I know.”

“No, Sarah.”

His voice became deadly serious.

“You don't know.”

“What don't I know?”

“You were never supposed to have Emma.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone.

My father looked at me.

“What did he say?”

I couldn't speak.

Then I looked toward the front window.

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