The phone rang at 5:17 on a Monday morning.
I was already awake.
For years, I had been a light sleeper, the kind of person who noticed every change in the house. A furnace clicking on. Rain against the bedroom window. A car slowing outside.
That morning, I had been lying in bed listening to the wind when my phone vibrated on the nightstand.
I saw Brittany's name.
I answered immediately.
"What's wrong?"
She didn't speak for several seconds.
Then she said, "I think Dad is in trouble."
I sat up.
"What happened?"
"He didn't show up."
"Where?"
"At work."
My mind moved through possibilities.
Illness.
Car trouble.
An accident.
"What do you mean he didn't show up?"
"He was supposed to meet someone at eight. He never went."
I looked at the clock.
"It's barely five-thirty."
"I know."
Her voice sounded strained.
"I've been trying to call him since four."
I got out of bed.
"Have you called his apartment?"
"No answer."
"His phone?"
"Straight to voicemail."
"Maybe he's asleep."
"I thought that too."
She took a breath.
"But yesterday he sent me something strange."
"What?"
"A message saying he had made a mistake and needed to tell me something."
I stopped walking.
"What kind of mistake?"
"I don't know."
"Did you ask?"
"He never answered."
I went downstairs.
The kitchen was dark except for the light above the stove.
"Do you know where he was going?"
"To the community workshop."
The workshop.
The place Richard had begun volunteering after the divorce.
I remembered him telling me once that he liked teaching teenagers how to repair things.
"Call the workshop."
"I did."
"And?"
"Nobody had seen him."
I looked out the window.
The sky was still black.
"Give me the address."
"Bren—"
"I'll meet you there."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
There was a pause.
"Okay."
Twenty minutes later, I was driving through empty streets.
I didn't know why I had agreed to go.
Richard and I were divorced.
His problems were no longer mine.
But there was a difference between being responsible for someone and caring whether they were safe.
I could still care.
I simply didn't have to carry everything afterward.
Brittany was waiting outside the workshop when I arrived.
She hugged herself against the cold.
"Anything?"
She shook her head.
"The door is locked."
We stood there.
The building was dark.
I looked through a side window.
Tools were arranged neatly along a workbench.
A bicycle frame hung from the wall.
Everything looked normal.
That somehow made it worse.
A car pulled into the parking lot.
An older man got out.
He recognized Brittany.
"You here for Richard?"
"Yes."
He looked concerned.
"He wasn't here yesterday?"
"No."
The man frowned.
"That's strange."
"Why?"
"He had something scheduled."
"What?"
"He was supposed to meet a young man here."
"Who?"
The man hesitated.
"His name is Tyler."
Brittany looked at me.
"Do you know him?"
"No."
The man explained that Tyler was seventeen and had been attending the workshop for several months.
Richard had been helping him repair an old truck.
"He was upset yesterday," the man said.
"About what?"
"I don't know."
Brittany looked toward the building.
"Could Tyler know where my dad is?"
"Maybe."
She pulled out her phone.
"I'll call him."
The call went unanswered.
I watched her face change.
"Voicemail."
We stood there another few minutes.
Then a small blue pickup turned into the parking lot.
A teenage boy got out.
He looked exhausted.
When he saw us, he stopped.
"You're Richard's daughter."
"Yes."
His eyes moved to me.
"And you're Brenda."
I felt a strange chill.
"How do you know me?"
"Mr. Hayes talked about you."
I didn't know whether that was comforting.
"Where is Richard?"
Tyler looked down.
"I don't know."
"But you saw him?"
"Yesterday."
"When?"
"Late afternoon."
"Where?"
He pointed toward the road.
"He left here around six."
"Was he alone?"
"Yes."
"Was anything wrong?"
Tyler hesitated.
Then he said, "He was angry."
"At who?"
"I don't know."
Brittany stepped closer.
"What did he say?"
Tyler looked at her.
"He said someone had been lying to him."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"About what?"
"I don't know."
"Did he mention my name?"
Tyler nodded.
I didn't move.
"What did he say?"
"He said he should have listened to Brenda years ago."
The sentence landed harder than I expected.
Not because I wanted an apology.
Because Richard had apparently reached the same conclusion I had reached long before.
He should have listened.
Brittany covered her mouth.
"Where did he go?"
"He got into his car."
"Which way?"
Tyler pointed toward the highway.
Then he remembered something.
"He left this."
He reached into his jacket.
A small envelope.
My name was written across it.
I took it.
My hands felt cold.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Brenda,
If Brittany brings you this, something happened that I didn't know how to explain.
There is something I should have told you.
I don't know whether telling you now will help.
But you deserve the truth.
I folded the page.
"What truth?"
Tyler shook his head.
"He didn't tell me."
Brittany looked at me.
"Can we go to his apartment?"
I nodded.
We drove separately.
Richard's apartment was only fifteen minutes away.
His car wasn't there.
The apartment was locked.
Brittany had an emergency key.
Inside, everything appeared normal.
No overturned furniture.
No broken glass.
No obvious sign of a struggle.
His coat was gone.
His wallet was gone.
His laptop remained on the desk.
His phone was missing.
I stood in the living room.
"He left voluntarily."
Brittany nodded.
"Then why didn't he tell me?"
I looked at the desk.
There was a notebook beside the laptop.
I opened it.
Most pages were ordinary.
Workshop schedules.
Names.
Parts.
Measurements.
Then I found something unusual.
A list of dates.
Next to each date was a person's name.
Some were crossed out.
One name wasn't.
Mine.
I stared at it.
"What is that?"
Brittany stood beside me.
"I don't know."
I turned the page.
There was an address.
Not mine.
Not Richard's.
A storage facility across town.
I looked at Brittany.
"Do you know this place?"
"No."
I copied the address.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice said, "Are you Brenda Hayes?"
"Yes."
"You need to stop looking for Richard."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Who are you?"
The caller hung up.
Brittany stared at me.
"What did they say?"
I told her.
She went pale.
I looked at the address again.
Whatever Richard had discovered, someone wanted it left alone.
And for the first time since my marriage ended, I wasn't being asked to solve a family problem.
I was being warned.
Click Here to continue read next: PART10: The Storage Unit Contained Nothing Valuable Until I Found One File That Explained Why Richard Had Been Afraid to Tell Me
The Dinner Table Went Quiet, and I Finally Heard What My Husband Had Been Saying Without Words
Part 9 of 16
