Chapter 6: The Room Thomas Left Behind
I stared at the photograph until my eyes started to hurt.
The longer I looked at it, the more impossible it became.
Thomas.
My Thomas.
Standing outside a brick building I had never seen before.
Holding a folder.
Smiling.
Alive.
But that was impossible.
My hands shook as I turned the photograph over again.
The address was still there.
A place in the next county.
A building I had never heard of.
A place where someone claimed my husband had hidden the truth from me.
I wanted to tear it apart.
I wanted to believe it was fake.
A cruel trick.
A lie.
But the photograph looked real.
And the fear inside me told me something worse.
Someone knew exactly what image would hurt me most.
Not money.
Not my house.
Not even Sloan’s betrayal.
Thomas.
They had chosen Thomas because they knew he was the one person I could never stop loving.
“Harrison.””
My son looked up from the papers scattered across the table.
“What happened?””
I handed him the photo.
He stared.
The color drained from his face.
“Dad?””
I nodded.
He flipped it over.
Then back.
“This is fake.””
“I hope so.””
“No.””
His voice became sharper.
“It has to be fake.””
I watched him.
Because he wasn’t trying to convince me.
He was trying to convince himself.
He had lost one parent already.
The thought that his father had hidden something from us was too heavy.
“When was this taken?”” he asked.
“I don’t know.””
He looked at the address.
“Where is this?””
“The place Thomas stayed before he died.””
Harrison looked at me.
“What?””
I sat down slowly.
“I never told you.””
“Told me what?””
I swallowed.
“When your father got sick, he spent one week away before coming home.””
His expression changed.
“I thought he was in the hospital.””
“He was.””
“Then why was he somewhere else?””
I looked at the photograph.
“Because he told me he needed time to arrange something.””
“What?””
“I never knew.””
Harrison stared.
“Mom.””
“I trusted him.””
The words came out quietly.
“I trusted your father more than anyone in this world.””
And that was the problem.
Because betrayal from a stranger hurts.
But betrayal from someone you built your entire life with?
That destroys the ground beneath your feet.
We drove to the address before noon.
Neither of us spoke much.
The road stretched ahead through quiet neighborhoods and old shopping areas.
I watched the trees pass by.
Every mile felt like I was moving further away from the life I thought I understood.
Harrison drove with both hands tightly gripping the wheel.
Finally, he said:
“Do you think Dad was hiding something?””
I looked out the window.
“I don’t know.””
“But?””
“But I know your father.””
He nodded.
“You do.””
“He was many things.””
I smiled sadly.
“Stubborn. Terrible at surprises. He once tried to fix a sink and flooded the kitchen.””
Harrison laughed quietly.
“I remember.””
“But he was not cruel.””
“No.””
“He would never intentionally hurt us.””
Harrison looked ahead.
“So whatever this is…”
“Maybe it wasn’t what it looks like.””
That was the hope we both held onto.
A fragile little piece of hope.
Because sometimes hope is the only thing keeping people moving toward painful truths.
The building was smaller than I expected.
A plain brick office with no sign outside.
Just a number beside the door.
127.
Harrison looked at me.
“This is it?””
I nodded.
We stepped inside.
A bell rang above the door.
A woman behind the desk looked up.
She appeared to be in her fifties.
Her expression changed the moment she saw me.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Lorraine?””
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.””
She stood slowly.
“I wondered when you would come.””
Harrison stepped forward.
“Who are you?””
The woman looked at him.
Then back at me.
“My name is Evelyn Brooks.””
The name hit me.
Brooks.
The same last name Daniel had found.
My voice became quiet.
“Evan Brooks.””
Her face fell.
“You know about him?””
Harrison and I exchanged a look.
“Who is Evan?”” I asked.
Evelyn hesitated.
Then she locked the office door.
That small action made my heart race.
“What is going on?””
She motioned toward the chairs.
“Please sit.””
Neither of us moved.
“Tell us.””
She looked at me.
“Your husband came here three years ago.””
My breath caught.
“He knew you?””
“Yes.””
“How?””
She looked down.
“Because Thomas hired my brother.””
Harrison frowned.
“Your brother is Evan?””
“Yes.””
I felt the room shift.
The photograph.
The documents.
Sloan.
All of it connected.
“Why?””
Evelyn looked at me.
“Because Thomas believed someone was trying to take advantage of you.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
“He knew someone was asking questions about your finances.””
I thought of Sloan.
The questions.
The concern.
The fake kindness.
“When did he know?””
“Months before he died.””
I closed my eyes.
Months.
My husband knew.
And he never told me.
“Why didn’t he say anything?””
Evelyn’s expression softened.
“Because he wanted to protect you.””
I looked at her.
“By keeping secrets?””
She didn’t answer.
Because she knew I was right.
Harrison leaned forward.
“What did my father find?””
Evelyn took a folder from a locked drawer.
“He discovered that someone had been researching your property.””
She placed it on the table.
“He believed they were planning to manipulate you.””
I opened the folder.
Inside were copies of documents.
Notes.
Names.
Dates.
My hands stopped when I saw one name.
Sloan.
Written in Thomas’s handwriting.
My heart sank.
“She knew my husband?””
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.””
“Then why is her name here?””
“Because Thomas found evidence that she was connected to someone else.””
“Who?””
Evelyn looked at me.
“Evan.””
My blood went cold.
“The man helping her?””
She nodded.
“But there is something you need to understand.””
“What?””
“Evan wasn’t helping Sloan.””
I frowned.
“Then what was he doing?””
Evelyn looked toward the folder.
“Your husband hired him to investigate Sloan.””
Harrison sat back.
“What?””
My mind struggled to catch up.
“Thomas was investigating her?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Evelyn was quiet for a moment.
Then she said:
“Because he believed Sloan entered your family for a reason.””
The room felt silent.
Even the sounds from outside disappeared.
I looked down at the papers.
At my husband’s handwriting.
At the notes he had left behind.
He had known.
He had seen something.
And he had been trying to protect me.
But then another thought came.
A painful one.
“If Thomas knew…”
My voice shook.
“Why didn’t he tell me before he died?””
Evelyn’s face changed.
Like she had been waiting for that question.
“Because he tried.””
Harrison and I looked at her.
“What?””
She opened another folder.
“He recorded a message for you.””
My heart stopped.
“A message?””
“Yes.””
“Where is it?””
Evelyn looked at the door.
Then at the folder.
“I don’t have it.””
“What do you mean?””
She lowered her voice.
“Because someone took it.””
“When?””
“Two weeks after Thomas died.””
I stood.
“Who?””
Evelyn looked directly at me.
“Sloan.””
The room went completely still.
Harrison whispered:
“How would Sloan even know it existed?””
Nobody answered.
Because the answer was obvious.
Someone close to Thomas had known.
Someone close enough to know where he kept his final message.
Someone close enough to steal it.
Then Evelyn reached into the folder and pulled out one final piece of paper.
“I found this after the message disappeared.””
She handed it to me.
It was a handwritten note.
Thomas’s handwriting.
My hands trembled as I read it.
*Lorraine, if you are reading this, it means I was right. Trust no one who tries to rush you. The truth is hidden where we made our first promise.*
I looked up.
“Harrison.””
He knew immediately.
Our first promise.
The place where his father proposed.
The old lake house.
The one we sold twenty years ago.
Except there was one problem.
I had not been there since.
And I knew for a fact…
someone else had.
Because written beneath Thomas’s message was a second line.
Not in his handwriting.
May you like
In Sloan’s.
*You’re too late.*
