Chapter 4: The Woman in the Photograph
I turned the photograph over again.
*ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO THE WOMAN IS.*
Four words.
Four ordinary words.
Yet my hands were shaking so badly that the picture rattled against my fingers.
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the photograph like she had been waiting twenty-six years for it to return.
“Mom,” I said quietly.
“Who is she?””
My mother didn't answer.
“Who is the woman standing next to Dad?””
Still nothing.
“Mom.””
Her eyes lifted to mine.
For the first time since I could remember, she looked ashamed.
“Her name was Vivian.””
My heart beat faster.
“Who was Vivian?””
Mom swallowed.
“She worked with your father.””
“Where?””
“At the company.””
“Was she his partner?””
“No.””
“An employee?””
“Yes.””
“What kind?””
Mom looked away.
“Someone he trusted.””
I studied the photograph.
My father stood with one hand resting on the hood of a dark sedan. He was younger than I remembered him, but unmistakably himself.
The woman beside him had shoulder-length dark hair and a serious expression.
She wasn't smiling.
Neither was my father.
And there was something about the way they stood together that made my stomach twist.
“Was she his girlfriend?””
My mother flinched.
That was answer enough.
“No,” she said quickly.
“Not like that.””
“Then what?””
“She knew what was happening.””
“What was happening?””
“With the money.””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Did Vivian know Thomas was stealing from Dad?””
“She suspected.””
“Did she tell him?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Before your father died.””
The room suddenly felt too small.
“Why have I never heard her name?””
“Because she disappeared.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“After your father died, Vivian vanished.””
“From town?””
“Yes.””
“Where did she go?””
“I don't know.””
“You never found her?””
“No.””
“Did the police look for her?””
My mother gave a bitter little laugh.
“The police weren't looking at the right people.””
I stepped closer to the bed.
“Mom, stop protecting me from this.””
“I am not trying to protect you anymore.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
She closed her eyes.
“When your father confronted Thomas, Vivian was there.””
“At the office?””
“No.””
“Where?””
“Here.””
I looked around the hospital room.
“Mercy Hill?””
“It was St. Agnes then.””
“Why were they here?””
“Because Vivian had been injured.””
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“What kind of injury?””
“A head injury.””
“Was it an accident?””
Mom didn't answer.
“Was it?””
“No.””
I stared at her.
“She was attacked.””
“By who?””
“We never proved it.””
“But you know.””
“I know what your father told me.””
“What did he say?””
Mom's voice dropped.
“He said Thomas had become dangerous.””
I looked down at the photograph again.
My father had stood beside Vivian at this very hospital.
Two days before he died.
What had happened between those moments?
I wanted answers immediately.
Instead, a sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
I turned toward the door.
My mother whispered, “Don't open it.””
I froze.
The footsteps stopped.
Then came three soft knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Eleanor?””
Marissa's voice.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Mom's eyes widened.
“Don't let her in.””
I moved quietly toward the door.
“Daniel?”” Marissa called.
I didn't answer.
“I know you're in there.””
I looked through the narrow glass panel.
Marissa stood alone in the hallway.
Her arms were folded.
Her expression was calm.
Too calm.
She looked like the woman I had married.
The woman who used to fall asleep against my shoulder during thunderstorms.
The woman who once drove three hours through a snowstorm because I had told her my mother needed groceries.
The woman who had held my hand at my father's grave.
And yet I couldn't stop seeing her hands around that pillow.
She knocked again.
“Daniel, please.””
I opened the door halfway.
“What are you doing here?””
She looked at me.
“I came to see Eleanor.””
“You're not going in.””
Her eyes moved past me.
“Why?””
“Because my mother is scared of you.””
Marissa's face changed.
Only slightly.
Then she whispered, “She told you stories.””
“She told me some things.””
“Daniel, your mother has been lying to you for years.””
I said nothing.
Marissa stepped closer.
“About your father.””
My pulse jumped.
“How do you know what she told me?””
“I know more about your family than you think.””
“How?””
She looked over my shoulder.
Then at me.
“You should ask her about Vivian.””
The blood drained from my face.
“How do you know that name?””
Marissa smiled sadly.
“Because I was hoping you would never hear it.””
I stared at her.
“What does Vivian have to do with you?””
“More than you understand.””
My mother suddenly called from the bed.
“Daniel, close the door.””
Marissa heard her.
Her expression hardened.
“Eleanor.””
Mom's voice shook.
“Leave.””
“After everything I've done for this family?””
“You did not do it for this family.””
Marissa's jaw clenched.
Then she looked at me.
“Ask her what happened to Vivian.””
I shut the door.
The instant the latch clicked, I heard Marissa walk away.
My mother was breathing hard.
“Mom.””
I turned.
“What happened to Vivian?””
Mom pressed her palms against her blanket.
“She came to our house.””
“When?””
“The night before your father died.””
“What did she want?””
“To warn me.””
“About Thomas?””
“Yes.””
“About what?””
Mom looked toward the window.
“She said your father was going to expose something bigger than stolen money.””
“What?””
“A list.””
“What kind of list?””
“Names.””
“Whose names?””
“People involved in the construction deals.””
I frowned.
“That doesn't explain Marissa.””
“No.””
Mom looked at me.
“It gets worse.””
I waited.
“Vivian told me your father had evidence that could destroy several powerful people.””
“Politicians?””
“Businessmen. Developers. Lawyers.””
“And Thomas?””
“Yes.””
“Did Dad give the evidence to Vivian?””
“No.””
“Then where was it?””
Mom hesitated.
“In a red folder.””
My stomach twisted.
The folder.
The same folder Marissa had been searching for.
“What was in it?””
“I don't know.””
“You don't know?””
“Your father never showed me everything.””
“But he told you about it.””
“He told me that if anything happened to him, I was never to trust anyone asking about it.””
“Anyone?””
“Anyone.””
A cold silence settled over us.
Then I remembered something.
“Marissa told me your sister worked at a law firm.””
Mom looked confused.
“Your wife never met my sister.””
“She said she did.””
“I don't have a sister.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
Mom's expression had become frightened again.
“I had one.””
“But she's dead?””
“No.””
The word barely escaped her mouth.
“She disappeared.””
I stepped backward.
“What is going on?””
Mom looked at the photograph.
“Vivian wasn't just your father's employee.””
I waited.
“She was my sister.””
The room went silent.
I couldn't speak.
The woman in the photograph wasn't some stranger from my father's past.
She was my mother's sister.
My aunt.
A woman I had never heard about.
And suddenly another detail became impossible to ignore.
“If Vivian was your sister,” I said slowly, “why would Marissa know her?””
Mom shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Then what did Marissa mean when she said she hoped I'd never hear that name?””
“I don't know.””
“Mom, you have to know something.””
“I know this.””
She reached for my hand.
“Vivian didn't disappear willingly.””
My throat tightened.
“What happened?””
“She was found dead.””
I stared at her.
“But you said she disappeared.””
“She disappeared first.””
“Then she was found?””
“Yes.””
“Where?””
Mom's hand trembled.
“Near the river.””
I sat down.
“When?””
“Three days after your father died.””
I could barely process it.
“Why wasn't this in the news?””
“It was.””
“I don't remember.””
“You were nine.””
“But—”
“Daniel, you were nine.””
Her voice cracked.
“You didn't know what questions to ask.””
I looked back at the photograph.
My father.
Vivian.
Thomas.
A hospital.
A red folder.
And Marissa.
The pieces seemed impossible, yet somehow they were beginning to fit.
I took my phone out and searched my own contacts.
There was a number I had almost forgotten.
An old family friend.
A retired detective named Samuel Brooks.
He had attended my father's funeral.
Mom had once told me he was the only police officer she trusted.
I called.
He answered after four rings.
“Daniel?””
“Detective Brooks?””
A pause.
“I haven't heard from you in years.””
“I need to ask you about my father.””
Silence.
Then he said, “Where are you?””
“Mercy Hill.””
His breathing changed.
“Why are you there?””
“My mother is a patient.””
“Is Eleanor in danger?””
“I think she is.””
He went quiet.
“Listen carefully,” he said.
“Don't discuss this over the phone.””
“Why?””
“Because some things never stayed buried.””
“What things?””
Another pause.
Then:
“The last time I saw your father, he gave me a key.””
My eyes moved to the brass key in my hand.
“A key to what?””
“I don't know.””
“You don't?””
“He told me I'd know when the right person asked.””
My fingers tightened around the key.
“Did he say anything else?””
“Yes.””
“What?””
“He said, ‘If my son ever comes looking for the truth, tell him not to trust the woman standing beside him.’”
My blood turned cold.
I looked through the window in the door.
At the end of the hallway, Marissa was standing beside the nurses' station.
She was holding her phone.
Watching me.
And then she lifted it to her ear.
My phone rang.
The caller ID showed *Marissa*.
I didn't answer.
A second later, Samuel Brooks spoke through my phone.
“Daniel?””
“Yes?””
“Who is the woman beside you?””
I stared through the glass at my wife.
She smiled.
Then she raised her free hand.
In it was a second photograph.
One I had never seen.
May you like
And beneath it, written in thick black ink, were six words:
*YOUR FATHER KNEW WHO SHE REALLY WAS.*
