Margaret did not sleep that night.
Daniel did.
Or at least he appeared to.
His breathing settled into a slow rhythm while Margaret sat beside the bedroom window with the blue box on her knees.
Rain began after midnight.
It tapped against the glass and softened the sounds of the neighborhood.
Margaret read Anna's letters one by one.
The first few were cautious.
Anna wrote about work.
About an apartment with a broken radiator.
About a bakery near the train station where the owner knew her name.
Then the letters changed.
She began writing about fear.
Not fear of Daniel.
Fear of someone watching her.
One letter mentioned a dark green sedan that appeared outside her apartment three evenings in a row.
Another described a man who asked the building manager whether Anna still lived there.
A third contained only six words.
Dad was right about one thing. They found me.
Margaret read that sentence twice.
Then again.
She looked toward Daniel.
He was awake.
“You knew she was being followed.”
Daniel's eyes opened fully.
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“No.”
Margaret stood.
“How could you?”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“You couldn't.”
“No.”
She held up the letter.
“She was frightened.”
“Yes.”
“She needed us.”
“Yes.”
“And you still let her disappear.”
Daniel's voice cracked.
“I thought keeping you away from her would keep you alive.”
Margaret stared.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel pushed himself higher against the pillows.
“After Anna found the photographs, someone began asking questions about her.”
“Who?”
“I never knew.”
“You must have suspected.”
“I suspected more than one person.”
“Names.”
Daniel hesitated.
“George Bell.”
Margaret frowned.
“Who is George Bell?”
“My father's attorney.”
“He's still alive?”
“No.”
“When did he die?”
“Sixteen years ago.”
Margaret sat down.
“What did he have to do with this?”
“He handled the business records.”
“The records your father falsified?”
“Yes.”
“And Anna found him?”
“She tried.”
“Did she meet him?”
“No.”
“Then how did he know about her?”
Daniel looked toward the rain-streaked window.
“Because I told him.”
Margaret's face hardened.
“You told him about Anna?”
“I asked him for help.”
“And he betrayed you.”
“I believe so.”
“You believe?”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“I never proved it.”
Margaret walked to the desk.
She picked up the photographs.
“Why was the missing letter so important?”
Daniel looked at the papers.
“Because Anna wrote the name of the person who had been helping her.”
“Claire?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Daniel said nothing.
Margaret turned.
“Daniel.”
“It was someone in our town.”
“Who?”
“I didn't know until years later.”
“Tell me.”
Daniel looked at the door.
Then back at her.
“Mrs. Holloway.”
Margaret blinked.
Their former neighbor.
“She helped Anna?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She believed Anna.”
Margaret sat slowly.
“Mrs. Holloway told me Anna had called once.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“She called me afterward.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Anna was coming home.”
Margaret's heart tightened.
“When?”
“The following Sunday.”
Margaret looked down.
“That was the Sunday I baked the apple pie.”
Daniel nodded.
“I remember.”
“I waited all afternoon.”
“I know.”
“I thought Anna had changed her mind.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“She was supposed to come.”
“What happened?”
Daniel's silence lasted too long.
“Daniel.”
“She never reached the house.”
Margaret felt the old grief return with a force that made her dizzy.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You followed her.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was coming.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was frightened.”
“Yes.”
“And you still did nothing?”
“I did something.”
“What?”
“I went to the station.”
Margaret stared.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Anna wasn't there.”
“Where was she?”
“I don't know.”
The answer was almost unbearable.
Margaret lowered herself into the chair.
“What did you find?”
Daniel looked at the old watch.
“A suitcase.”
“Her suitcase?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Under a bench.”
“Was it open?”
“No.”
“What was inside?”
“Clothes. A book. Her purse.”
Margaret's breath caught.
“Her purse?”
“Yes.”
“Then where was she?”
“I never found out.”
“You said she left.”
“I thought she did.”
“But you don't know.”
“No.”
Margaret opened another letter.
The handwriting became increasingly hurried toward the end.
Mom, if Dad tells you I left because I wanted freedom, please don't believe him.
Margaret's eyes lifted.
Daniel did not move.
She read the next line.
I wanted to come home.
Her throat tightened.
The final sentence on the page was partially smeared.
I was at the station at 3:17, and—
The rest had been torn away.
Margaret stared.
“What does this mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You've had this letter for twenty-six years.”
“Yes.”
“You never wondered?”
“Every day.”
She turned the page.
Nothing else.
Then she noticed a faint impression in the paper.
She placed it beneath the desk lamp.
There were marks pressed into the sheet from another page.
Margaret's eyes narrowed.
“Someone wrote on top of this.”
Daniel looked.
She grabbed a pencil from the desk and lightly shaded the back of the paper.
Letters emerged.
Not complete sentences.
Fragments.
…car…
…Mr. Bell…
…three seventeen…
…don't trust…
Margaret's hand stopped.
“Mr. Bell.”
Daniel nodded.
“That's what I feared.”
“What did Anna know about him?”
Daniel took a breath.
“George Bell wasn't only my father's attorney.”
“What else?”
“He helped move the money.”
Margaret looked at the photographs.
“So he was involved.”
“Yes.”
“And Anna discovered it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would he let her live?”
“He didn't know how much she had.”
Margaret's eyes narrowed.
“And you did?”
“I knew she had enough to destroy him.”
“Then why didn't you give the evidence to the police?”
Daniel's expression collapsed.
“Because I was afraid of what would happen to Anna.”
Margaret stood.
“She was already in danger.”
“I know.”
“You could have protected her.”
“I thought I was.”
“You hid her evidence.”
“I thought Bell would stop looking.”
“He didn't.”
“No.”
Margaret turned away.
The rain grew heavier.
Then a sound came from downstairs.
A soft metallic click.
Margaret froze.
Daniel looked at her.
“What was that?”
She listened.
Another click.
Then the faint scrape of a drawer opening.
Someone was downstairs.
Daniel tried to sit up.
Margaret put a finger to her lips.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“You can't walk safely.”
“I can.”
“Daniel.”
He pushed the blanket aside.
His feet touched the floor.
He nearly collapsed.
Margaret caught him.
Together they moved toward the bedroom door.
The hallway was dark.
Margaret reached for the light switch.
Then stopped.
A shadow moved across the wall downstairs.
Someone was in the house.
Daniel gripped her arm.
“Don't turn on the light.”
They stood silently.
Margaret could hear her own breathing.
Then a man's voice rose from below.
“Daniel?”
Her blood ran cold.
The voice sounded older.
Familiar.
But impossible.
Daniel's face went white.
“Who is it?” Margaret whispered.
He shook his head.
The voice came again.
“I know you're awake.”
Margaret looked at Daniel.
“Do you know him?”
Daniel nodded.
“Who?”
Daniel's lips barely moved.
“George Bell.”
Margaret's heart slammed against her ribs.
“That can't be.”
“He died sixteen years ago.”
Footsteps climbed the stairs.
One.
Two.
Three.
Daniel grabbed Margaret's hand.
The footsteps stopped outside their bedroom.
A long silence followed.
Then the doorknob turned.
Margaret stepped backward.
The door opened.
An elderly man stood in the hallway.
He was thinner than Margaret remembered.
His hair was completely white.
But his eyes were unmistakable.
Margaret had seen them once, twenty-six years earlier, at a Christmas party.
George Bell.
He looked directly at Daniel.
“You finally opened the box,” he said.
Margaret's hand tightened around Daniel's.
George looked at her.
“Then you must be Margaret.”
She couldn't speak.
George smiled sadly.
“I was hoping Daniel would tell you himself.”
Daniel whispered, “You're supposed to be dead.”
“I know.”
George reached inside his coat.
Margaret stiffened.
He removed a folded letter.
Anna's handwriting covered the front.
Margaret recognized it immediately.
George held it out.
“She asked me to keep this until you were ready to hear the truth.”
Daniel stared at the letter.
“What did you do to her?”
George's face changed.
“I didn't hurt Anna.”
“Then where is she?”
George looked at Margaret.
“She has been waiting for you for twenty-six years.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART4: The Stranger at Their Door Carried the Missing Letter, but His Final Answer Raised a Question Margaret Was Afraid to Ask
The Letter Her Husband Asked Her Never to Open Until He Could No Longer Explain What It Meant
Part 3 of 16
