PART 3
Then her eyes found mine.
She stopped.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
She was about my age, perhaps a year younger. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, and she wore a gray sweater and jeans. She looked ordinary.
That somehow made everything harder.
This was the woman who had grown up with my mother.
The woman who had eaten birthday cake with her.
The woman who had heard bedtime stories from the woman who had once kissed my forehead and walked out for milk.
Chloe approached slowly.
“Clara?”
I nodded.
She sat across from me.
Neither of us ordered anything.
For almost a minute, we simply stared at each other.
Finally she whispered, “You really look like her.”
I swallowed.
“So do you.”
She looked down.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Neither do I.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I thought you were lying.”
“I know.”
“I thought maybe you were trying to get money from us.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She looked at me.
“I don’t even know what you have.”
“Nothing you can give me will make me twenty-two years younger.”
That silenced her.
I reached into my purse and placed the birthday card on the table.
Chloe stared at it.
Her lips trembled.
“She wrote that?”
“Yes.”
“To my dad.”
“Did she know where I was?”
Chloe nodded.
“She knew.”
“How long?”
She looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
She closed her eyes.
“I will.”
A waitress approached, and Chloe ordered coffee. I ordered water.
When the waitress left, Chloe leaned toward me.
“There are things I need to tell you.”
“About my mother?”
“About everything.”
My stomach tightened.
“Start with what she told you.”
Chloe rubbed her fingers together.
“She said she had a daughter once.”
I froze.
“You just said she told you she never had another daughter.”
“She said that before.”
“What changed?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you saying this?”
“Because I asked her.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did she say?”
Chloe looked directly at me.
“She said your father was dangerous.”
I stared at her.
“Dangerous?”
“She said he was controlling. That he was obsessed with you. That he threatened her.”
I felt something cold settle inside my chest.
“Did you believe her?”
“I did.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what to believe.”
She pulled out her phone and opened a photograph.
It showed my mother standing beside a man I assumed was her husband.
They looked happy.
Comfortable.
Like the kind of couple who had spent decades building a life together.
“That man is David,” Chloe said. “Our stepfather.”
“Our?”
She hesitated.
“Technically, he adopted us after they married.”
I stared at the picture.
“Mason and I always thought David was our biological father.”
“Is he?”
“No.”
The word landed like a stone.
I leaned back.
“Then who is?”
Chloe’s eyes met mine.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Our mother told us David was our father because she didn’t want us asking questions.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re telling me my mother abandoned me, started another family, and then lied to that family too?”
Chloe’s voice broke.
“Apparently.”
The waitress brought our drinks.
Neither of us touched them.
I looked at the birthday card again.
“Did she ever mention my father?”
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around the glass.
“What did she say?”
“That he wasn’t supposed to know about you.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”
Chloe nodded.
“She told us years ago that before David, there was a man who wouldn’t leave her alone. She said she had a child with him, but she lost custody.”
“That man was my father.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t lose custody.”
“I know.”
“He raised me.”
“I know.”
“Then why would she tell you that?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared out the window.
For years, I’d imagined my mother’s disappearance as simple.
She didn’t want me.
That was painful, but simple.
Now every answer created another question.
Chloe reached across the table.
“There is something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“She has been receiving letters.”
My stomach dropped.
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of letters?”
“She keeps them locked in a drawer.”
“Have you seen them?”
“Yes.”
“What do they say?”
“I only saw one.”
“And?”
Chloe hesitated.
“It mentioned you.”
My breath caught.
“What did it say?”
“Something about your father finding out.”
I stared at her.
“My father died.”
“I know.”
“So who was afraid he’d find out?”
Chloe shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I thought of Dad’s letter.
I hope you can forgive me for what you’re about to find.
Suddenly, his words felt different.
Maybe the grocery bag wasn’t simply an explanation for my mother’s abandonment.
Maybe it was a warning.
I reached into my purse and pulled out the remaining contents I’d brought from Dad’s apartment.
The custody papers.
The cards.
The checks.
The photograph.
I placed them on the table.
Chloe examined each one carefully.
When she saw the photograph, her face changed.
“This wasn’t taken at our house.”
“What?”
She pointed to the background.
“That isn’t our backyard.”
I stared at the photograph.
She was right.
The picture showed my mother beside David, Chloe, and Mason.
There was a stone patio behind them.
A white fence.
A large oak tree.
“I thought this was your house.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then where was it taken?”
“I don’t know.”
Chloe zoomed in on the image.
“Wait.”
She enlarged the corner.
There was a small wooden sign attached to the fence.
The photograph was blurry, but I could make out three letters.
H—V
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Chloe shook her head.
“I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?”
“In one of Mom’s old boxes.”
She suddenly looked frightened.
“What?”
“She had photographs from before she met David.”
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
“Where are they?”
“My mother destroyed most of them.”
“Most?”
“I found one when I was sixteen.”
“What was in it?”
Chloe stared at me.
“A little girl.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“What little girl?”
“You.”
I couldn’t speak.
She reached into her purse.
“I brought something.”
She placed a small plastic sleeve on the table.
Inside was an old photograph.
It showed a little girl sitting on a man’s shoulders.
The child was perhaps four years old.
She had curly brown hair.
A missing front tooth.
And a pink jacket.
I knew that jacket.
I had seen it in Dad’s old photo albums.
I turned the photograph over.
Written on the back in faded ink were six words.
Clara and Daddy. Hocking Valley, 2004.
My hands began trembling.
“That was me.”
Chloe nodded.
“I know.”
“Where did you get this?”
“From my mother’s old things.”
“Why did she have it?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at the picture.
Dad looked younger.
Healthy.
His back was straight.
His hair was thick.
He was smiling.
I’d never seen that photograph before.
“Why would she keep this?”
Chloe looked at me.
“Maybe because she wasn’t as indifferent as she wanted everyone to believe.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You don’t believe that?”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
Stop asking questions about Evelyn.
I showed Chloe.
Her face went pale.
“That’s the same number.”
“What same number?”
“The one that sent me a message last night.”
My throat tightened.
“What did it say?”
She unlocked her phone.
Her message history was still open.
The text read:
You don’t know what you’re digging into. Tell Clara to leave the past alone.
I looked at Chloe.
She looked at me.
For the first time since we’d met, we were frightened together.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Your father wasn’t the man you think he was.
I stared at the screen.
Chloe whispered, “Who is doing this?”
I didn’t answer.
Because somewhere deep inside me, a terrible possibility had already formed.
Maybe my father had left something out.
Maybe his final note wasn’t about my mother.
Maybe it was about him.
That evening, I returned to Dad’s apartment.
I turned on every light.
I locked the door.
Then I went through everything.
Not casually.
Not emotionally.
Like an investigator.
I opened every drawer.
Every cabinet.
Every box.
I searched beneath his bed, inside his closet, behind the refrigerator.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the engineering textbooks.
They had sat untouched on the top shelf of the hallway closet for as long as I could remember.
I dragged a chair underneath them.
One by one, I pulled them down.
Thermodynamics.
Fluid Mechanics.
Structural Analysis.
Machine Design.
The books were covered in dust.
I opened the first one.
Nothing.
The second.
Nothing.
The third.
A folded sheet of paper fell onto the floor.
I picked it up.
It wasn’t Dad’s handwriting.
It was my mother’s.
I knew immediately.
The words were faded, but I could read them.
Thomas,
I know you think I’m abandoning Clara, but you don’t understand what I’m trying to protect her from.
My knees nearly gave out.
Thomas.
My father’s name.
I kept reading.
If you tell her the truth now, they’ll come for her.
I stopped.
They.
Who were they?
I read the next line.
Please trust me. I will come back when it is safe.
The letter was dated twenty-two years ago.
Three months after she disappeared.
I sat on the floor.
She had planned to come back.
At least that’s what the letter claimed.
But she never did.
Why?
I continued.
I can’t explain everything in writing. If they find this, Clara will be in danger. You must tell her only when she is old enough to understand.
Then the final sentence.
And whatever happens, don’t let David know where she is.
I stared at the name.
David.
Chloe’s stepfather.
My mother’s husband.
I suddenly understood why Dad had kept this hidden.
He wasn’t merely protecting me from a mother who didn’t want me.
He had been protecting me from someone.
But why?
And why had he waited twenty-two years?
I searched the textbook again.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something strange.
The spine was slightly loose.
I pulled it.
The cover separated.
Inside was a narrow envelope.
