I opened my father's letter beside the river because I couldn't bear the thought of Jessica watching me read it.
The rain had stopped, but the sky remained gray and heavy over the water.
My hands were still shaking.
The first page was written in Dad's familiar block letters. By the final pages, the handwriting had become uneven.
Son,
If you are reading this without me beside you, then something has happened that prevented me from explaining this properly.
I stopped there.
Then I began again.
Dad admitted that Elena Morales had been twenty-five when she inherited a portion of her family's wealth.
Her brother Victor expected to control the business.
Elena's inheritance threatened that expectation.
Then she met Arthur Hayes.
Dad had been working construction at one of the Morales properties.
According to the letter, Elena initially disliked him because he treated her like an ordinary person.
That eventually became one of the reasons she loved him.
They married despite her family's objections.
Victor didn't accept it.
He hired lawyers.
Then investigators.
Then doctors.
The pattern was deliberate.
A story was being constructed around Elena.
She was unstable.
She was incapable of managing money.
She couldn't be trusted with her own affairs.
Dad wrote that none of those claims reflected the woman he knew.
When I was three, Victor sought emergency guardianship.
Then he tried to include me.
Dad fought him.
For nearly two years, my parents lived under the threat of court orders, investigators, and strangers asking questions about our family.
Then came the fire.
I had no memory of it.
My entire understanding of that night had been a sentence repeated throughout my childhood.
The house burned.
My mother died.
Dad survived with me.
We moved on.
Except that wasn't what happened.
According to Dad, Elena got me out through a bedroom window.
He was waiting outside.
She put me into his arms.
Then she went back inside.
Not for jewelry.
Not for money.
For the evidence she had gathered against Victor.
She emerged before the fire consumed the house.
Afterward, she made the choice that would shape every year of my life.
She would disappear.
Dad would take me away.
Everyone else would believe she had died.
Victor would stop looking for her.
And I would grow up as Arthur Hayes's son.
A child from a tragic fire.
Nothing more.
Dad wrote that Elena kissed me while I slept.
Then she asked him for one promise.
Give Ethan a beautiful life.
I lowered the pages.
For thirty-three years, I had believed my mother had been buried somewhere.
Now I learned that she had made a decision to stay away.
The difference was difficult to understand.
I didn't know whether to feel betrayed, grateful, angry, or heartbroken.
Perhaps all of it could exist together.
Dad admitted that he sometimes knew pieces of Elena's whereabouts.
He never knew enough to bring her home safely.
He believed telling me could expose both of us.
At the bottom of the last page was another photograph.
The three of us together.
Me with cake on my face.
Dad younger.
Elena smiling.
On the back was the same promise.
I sat beside the river until the light disappeared.
When I finally returned home, Jessica was waiting.
She came toward me.
“How is your father?”
“He survived.”
Relief crossed her face.
She hugged me.
I didn't move.
Her perfume was familiar.
Her hands were familiar.
Everything about her belonged to the life I had believed was safe.
Then she stepped away.
Her eyes went immediately to the envelope in my hand.
“What is that?”
“Hospital paperwork.”
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
She stared at me.
I had never answered her that way before.
“Why?”
“Because it belongs to Dad.”
“We're married.”
“That doesn't make every document ours.”
Her expression tightened.
“Did he tell you not to show me?”
I looked at her.
The question was too precise.
“Why would you ask that?”
“You're acting like I'm dangerous.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You don't have to.”
She followed me toward my office.
“Ethan.”
I stopped.
“Did Arthur say something about me?”
There was no confusion in her voice.
No curiosity.
Fear.
“Why would he?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why ask?”
She folded her arms.
“Because he never trusted me.”
“That isn't true.”
“You know it is.”
Dad had always been polite to Jessica.
He remembered her birthday.
He brought her coffee.
He fixed things around our house without being asked.
He had made an effort to respect our marriage.
“He bought you gifts,” I said.
“That doesn't mean he trusted me.”
There was that word again.
Trust.
I entered my office.
The fireproof safe was built into the lower cabinet.
I opened it.
Jessica watched.
I placed the envelope inside.
Then locked it.
Her eyes followed the entire process.
“You're really keeping secrets from me.”
“Dad is in intensive care.”
“And that means what?”
“It means I'm not discussing his private documents.”
She walked away.
I waited.
When I heard the bedroom door close, I returned to the office.
I took the flash drive from the envelope.
Dad had written one word on it.
HOME.
I didn't know whether he meant my house or simply that I should open it somewhere safe.
I decided not to use my work computer.
I put everything back.
Then I checked the safe twice.
That night I barely slept.
Sometime after midnight, I heard a metallic click.
Then another.
I sat up.
Jessica's side of the bed was empty.
The bedroom door stood open.
I moved through the hallway without turning on the lights.
A faint glow came from downstairs.
My office door was ajar.
I stepped closer.
Jessica was kneeling in front of the safe.
She held a set of keys.
Duplicate keys.
The safe was open.
Dad's envelope was in her hand.
“What are you doing?”
She spun around.
The envelope slipped from her fingers.
“Ethan.”
Her voice sounded startled.
I stared at the keys.
“You copied them.”
“I was looking for insurance documents.”
“At midnight?”
“I couldn't sleep.”
“The insurance papers are in the filing cabinet.”
She glanced toward the safe.
“Jessica.”
“What?”
“Who gave you those keys?”
She didn't answer.
I held out my hand.
“Give them to me.”
She reluctantly dropped them into my palm.
“When did you make copies?”
“A long time ago.”
“Why?”
“This is our house.”
I looked at the safe.
“Then why didn't you ask?”
She stepped toward me.
“You're exhausted. Your father nearly died. You're upset, and now you're looking for reasons to distrust me.”
“You were opening my father's envelope.”
“I wasn't reading it.”
“You were trying to.”
She shook her head.
“I was looking for documents.”
“Which documents?”
She didn't answer.
I picked up the envelope.
The seal was still intact.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
“No.”
Her face changed.
“What did he tell you?”
Not what happened.
Not what was in the envelope.
What did he tell you?
I stared at her.
“My mother may be alive.”
Jessica became still.
I watched her carefully.
She should have looked shocked.
Instead, for one brief second, recognition crossed her face.
Then it vanished.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“That isn't possible.”
“You didn't look surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
“No.”
I took a step backward.
“You're frightened.”
“Of what?”
“I don't know yet.”
She reached for my arm.
I moved away.
Her face tightened.
“You're treating me like a criminal.”
“I found you opening a locked safe in the middle of the night.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She said nothing.
I carried the envelope upstairs.
I locked the bedroom door.
Jessica argued through it.
Then she pleaded.
Eventually, she went silent.
I didn't sleep.
Before sunrise, I drove to the hospital.
Dad was awake.
The breathing tube was gone.
He looked exhausted.
He still managed a faint smile.
“You look terrible.”
I laughed despite myself.
“You almost died.”
“Apparently I'm difficult to kill.”
I sat beside him.
“I read your letter.”
His smile disappeared.
“I figured.”
“I need answers.”
“You deserve them.”
“Is Mom alive?”
He looked toward the window.
“I don't know.”
That hurt.
“But she survived the fire.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Pieces. Over the years.”
“Why?”
“Because men were watching.”
“Victor?”
“Victor and people working for him.”
“He wanted the inheritance.”
“He wanted control.”
I thought about the court records.
“The fire wasn't accidental.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Victor started it?”
“I can't prove that.”
“But you believe he did.”
“I believe the fire happened because Elena had evidence he couldn't afford to lose.”
I looked at him.
“The records you paid for with my money weren't adoption records.”
“No.”
“They were inheritance records.”
“Yes.”
“And the test?”
“DNA.”
Jessica's question in the kitchen returned immediately.
“How did she know?”
Dad stared at me.
“She asked about DNA?”
“Yes.”
He tried to sit up.
“Has she tried to get the envelope?”
“She had keys.”
His face tightened.
“How did you know?”
“Someone has been searching my house.”
“For months?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I wasn't certain who was doing it.”
“And now?”
He looked at me.
“Now you need to see what they were searching for.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART4: Inside the House Where I Grew Up, Small Disturbances Led Me to a Hidden Journal and a Face From My Past I Couldn’t Ignore
The Thousand-Dollar Request That Should Have Been Ordinary Became the First Sign That Someone Was Hiding the Truth From Me
Part 3 of 8
