Chapter 4: The Letter My First Wife Left Behind
I read the six words again.
Andre, if you're reading this, she's back.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Rachel's handwriting was unmistakable. The elegant curves of her letters, the small heart she sometimes drew above the letter A, the way she always pressed too hard when writing my name.
I had seen that handwriting on birthday cards, grocery lists, anniversary notes, and the thousands of little reminders she used to leave around our house.
But I had never seen it on an envelope that made my dead wife sound as though she had been expecting someone to return.
"Who is she talking about?"" Devin asked.
I locked my phone.
"I don't know yet.""
Maya looked between us.
"Is it about Mom?""
I nodded.
"Your aunt has a letter from her.""
"Can we go see her?""
I looked at the departure board. Our original vacation was scheduled to leave in less than two hours.
Then I looked at my children.
"Yes. We're going to see her.""
I called the airline and canceled our remaining arrangements. The agent offered condolences about the disrupted trip, but I barely heard her.
The vacation no longer mattered.
By early afternoon, we were driving toward Rebecca's house.
She lived in a quiet neighborhood outside Philadelphia, in the same two-story colonial where Rachel had spent most of her childhood. The front porch still had white rocking chairs, and a climbing rose bush wrapped around one of the wooden posts.
Rebecca was waiting outside.
She was fifty-two, with silver beginning to show in her dark hair. When she saw Maya step out of the SUV, she hurried down the porch steps.
"Oh, sweetheart.""
Maya ran into her arms.
Rebecca held her tightly.
"I am so sorry.""
Maya pulled back.
"For what?""
"For letting you feel like you weren't wanted.""
Maya's eyes filled.
"Did Mom know this would happen?""
Rebecca looked at me.
"Come inside.""
The children settled in the living room with sandwiches and lemonade while Rebecca and I sat at the dining table.
She placed a small wooden box between us.
The lid had a brass clasp.
I recognized it immediately.
Rachel had kept it beside her bed when she was alive.
"Where did you find this?"" I asked.
"In the attic. I moved it there after the funeral because I couldn't bear looking at it.""
She opened the clasp.
Inside were photographs, folded letters, a small silver bracelet, and a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
Rebecca pushed it toward me.
"Read it.""
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope.
My dearest Andre,
If you are reading this, something has happened that I desperately hoped would never happen. Someone from my past has found a way back into our lives.
I need you to listen carefully.
There is a woman named Celeste Morgan.
My stomach dropped.
I looked up.
Rebecca nodded slowly.
"Keep reading.""
I continued.
Years ago, Celeste worked at the financial services company where I was employed. We were never friends. In fact, she once approached me about a personal investment opportunity that I discovered was fraudulent.
I reported it. She lost her position, and I thought that was the end of it.
But she knew about our family. She knew about you. She knew about Maya.
My mouth went dry.
I don't believe she will approach you because of what happened years ago. But if she ever does, please remember that she has already demonstrated that she is willing to use other people's trust for her own benefit.
If she becomes part of your life, protect Maya's inheritance.
The trust is not simply money. It is the one thing I was able to secure for our daughter's future.
I stopped reading.
"What inheritance?"" I whispered.
Rebecca reached into the box and removed another document.
"Rachel established a trust with her attorney. She deposited the proceeds from an investment account, part of an inheritance from our father, and the payout from a life insurance policy.""
I stared at the papers.
"How much?""
"Initially, a little over eight hundred thousand dollars.""
My chair scraped against the floor as I stood.
"Eight hundred thousand?""
"That's what Rachel left for Maya. The money was placed under professional management. It was supposed to remain protected until Maya turned eighteen.""
I rubbed my face.
"Celeste knew about this?""
"Apparently, she knew enough to try to access it.""
I looked down at Rachel's letter again.
There was another paragraph.
Andre, if someone tells you that Maya is difficult, spoiled, or impossible to love, please remember that she is a child. She will lose me before she understands what losing me means.
Don't let anyone convince her that she has to earn her place in your heart.
My eyes burned.
I sat down.
Rebecca reached across the table and touched my hand.
"She loved you both so much.""
I couldn't speak.
Then I noticed something tucked beneath the final page.
A small photograph.
Rachel stood outside an office building, holding Maya when she was about three. Beside her was another woman.
Celeste.
I stared at the picture.
"How?""
Rebecca nodded.
"That's why I said she found her way back.""
"Rachel knew Celeste personally?""
"Yes. And she was frightened of her.""
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back.
It was taken almost a year before Rachel died.
Then Rebecca handed me a second document.
"There's more.""
It was a copy of Rachel's revised will.
The date was three weeks before her death.
I scanned the first page.
Then the second.
My eyes stopped at a paragraph naming a secondary trustee.
*Rebecca Morgan Bennett.*
I looked up.
"Why did Rachel put you in charge?""
"Because she didn't trust anyone else to protect Maya's interests if something happened to her.""
"Why didn't she tell me?""
"She intended to. But her illness progressed faster than anyone expected.""
I sat silently.
For years, I had believed Celeste entered our lives by coincidence. She had met me at a charity fundraiser, complimented Maya's drawings, and gradually become part of our household.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether anything about our relationship had been accidental.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Celeste.
*Celeste: I know you're at Rebecca's. Don't let her fill your head with lies.*
Another message arrived.
*Celeste: Rachel was not the woman you think she was.*
Then a third.
*Celeste: If you read that letter, you need to know what she did before she died.*
I showed Rebecca.
Her expression changed.
"She knows.""
"Knows what?""
Rebecca closed the wooden box.
"That the truth is about to come out.""
Before I could ask another question, Maya appeared in the doorway.
She was holding a photograph.
"Is this Mom?""
I turned.
She had found another picture inside the box.
Rachel was sitting on a hospital bed, holding a tiny envelope.
On the back, in her handwriting, were the words:
For Maya. Open on her eighteenth birthday.
Maya stared at it.
"What's inside?""
Rebecca swallowed.
"Something your mother wanted you to have when you were old enough.""
Maya held the photograph against her chest.
Then she asked the question none of us was prepared to answer.
"Did Celeste know Mom was dying?""
Rebecca looked at me.
And for the first time that afternoon, I saw genuine fear in her eyes.
May you like
"Yes," she whispered.
"She knew.""
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