“You mean it?”
“For a limited time.”
Tyler nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Then he turned to me.
“You’re really not giving me anything?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Not even gas money?”
“No.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then he walked out.
The front door closed.
I expected relief.
Instead, I felt hollow.
I walked to the window.
Through the glass, I watched Tyler put his duffel bag into Richard’s car.
Richard stood beside him.
Before getting inside, Tyler looked back at the house.
For one brief moment, our eyes met.
Then he looked away.
The car pulled out of the driveway.
I remained by the window until it disappeared.
Ms. Harrison came to stand beside me.
“You okay?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She waited.
“But I will be.”
Three days later, Tyler didn’t call.
Four days.
Five.
Nothing.
I thought perhaps silence was a good thing.
Then, on the sixth day, my phone rang.
Richard.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
His voice was tense.
“Margaret, we need to talk.”
“What happened?”
“Tyler is gone.”
My heart dropped.
“What do you mean gone?”
“He left last night.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you argue?”
“No.”
“Did he take anything?”
“Just his clothes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Richard, is he safe?”
“I don’t know.”
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
Then Richard said something that changed everything.
“He left a note.”
“What does it say?”
“I think you should see it.”
Twenty minutes later, Richard arrived at my house.
He handed me a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
There were only three lines.
Mom,
I know you think this is about me being angry. It isn’t.
You don’t know what I found in your house.
I read it twice.
“What did he find?”
Richard shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I looked around the kitchen.
The same kitchen where Tyler had hit me.
The same kitchen where I had finally told him no.
The same kitchen where I thought the worst part of our story had already happened.
I opened the note again.
There was writing on the back.
My stomach dropped.
It was an address.
Not Tyler’s.
Not Richard’s.
It was the address of the old storage unit where I kept my mother’s belongings.
I looked at Richard.
“He went there.”
Richard’s expression changed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I grabbed my coat.
“We’re going.”
When we arrived, the storage unit door was already open.
The lock had been cut.
Boxes were scattered everywhere.
My mother’s old photographs were torn apart.
Her jewelry box was empty.
And on the concrete floor lay a single brown envelope.
I picked it up.
My mother’s handwriting was on the front.
For Margaret.
I opened it with trembling hands.
Inside was a letter I had never seen before.
The first sentence made my blood run cold.
If Tyler ever finds this, it means the secret I protected for twenty-three years is no longer safe.
I looked at Richard.
He stared at the letter.
Neither of us spoke.
Then I read the next line.
Your son is not the only person you should be afraid of.
And beneath it was a name.
A name I hadn’t heard in twenty-three years.
A name belonging to someone who had been dead since Tyler was a baby.
Or so I had always believed.
PART 4
I stared at the name until the letters blurred.
Daniel Mercer.
My first husband.
Tyler’s biological father.
The man I had buried twenty-three years ago.
The man whose death certificate I had kept in a box for decades.
The man I had spent my entire adult life believing was dead.
Richard looked at me.
“Margaret?”
I couldn’t answer.
He took the letter from my hand and read it.
His face changed.
“You never told me this.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You were married to him.”
“I know.”
“What does this mean?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know.”
Then something moved outside.
We both turned.
A car was parked across the lot.
Dark windows.
Engine running.
Richard stepped toward the door.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Margaret—”
“I’ve spent twenty-three years being afraid of a dead man.”
I grabbed the envelope.
“I am done being afraid.”
We walked outside.
The car pulled away.
Richard memorized the license plate.
Then he looked at me.
“Call the police.”
I nodded.
But before I could reach for my phone, mine began ringing.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice spoke.
“Margaret.”
My blood turned cold.
I knew that voice.
I hadn’t heard it in twenty-three years.
But a voice can live in memory longer than a face.
“Daniel?”
Silence.
Then he said,
“You finally found the letter.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Richard took the phone from my hand.
“Who is this?”
The caller laughed.
“Richard.”
He knew his name.
“You’ve always been the good man.”
Richard’s face hardened.
“What do you want?”
“I want Margaret to remember what happened the night I disappeared.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
Richard looked at me.
“Do you remember?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
But somewhere deep inside me, something was beginning to return.
A storm.
A car.
Daniel shouting.
A baby crying.
Tyler.
Then darkness.
I had spent years telling myself I couldn’t remember because the memories were too painful.
But perhaps I couldn’t remember because someone had worked very hard to make sure I didn’t.
That night, I barely slept.
At 3:12 a.m., I heard a sound downstairs.
I grabbed my phone and quietly opened my bedroom door.
The hallway was dark.
Another sound.
A drawer closing.
Someone was in my kitchen.
I reached for the lamp.
Before I could turn it on, a voice whispered:
“Mom?”
I froze.
“Tyler?”
He stepped out of the darkness.
His face looked exhausted.
He had a cut above his eyebrow.
His jacket was wet from the rain.
“Tyler, what happened?”
He didn’t answer.
I ran toward him.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where have you been?”
He looked at me.
“I found something.”
“What?”
He pulled a small flash drive from his pocket.
“This.”
I stared at it.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your mother’s storage unit.”
My heart stopped.
“You went there?”
“Yes.”
“You broke the lock?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because someone else was already there.”
Richard came downstairs.
He looked at Tyler.
“What happened?”
Tyler looked at him.
“They’re looking for this.”
Richard took the flash drive.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know?”
Tyler swallowed.
“Because they followed me.”
I felt a chill.
“Who?”
Tyler looked at me.
“Mom, I think the person you believed was dead is alive.”
“I know.”
His face changed.
“You know?”
“I spoke to him.”
Tyler stepped backward.
“You spoke to Daniel?”
I nodded.
He stared at me.
Then he whispered,
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because he isn’t my father.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“What?”
Tyler looked down.
“I found the medical records.”
My heart began pounding.
“What records?”
