Chapter 4: The Truth Behind Emily’s Letter
Linda called me the next morning.
“You talked to Sarah.””
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.””
“And she told you about me.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“She suggested you weren’t being honest.””
Linda sighed.
“She would say that.””
“Then tell me.””
A long pause.
“Meet me.””
We met at the same coffee shop.
This time, Linda looked exhausted.
“I owe you the truth.””
I waited.
“Sarah didn’t just know Emily.””
She pushed a small envelope across the table.
“She was obsessed with her.””
Inside was a letter.
Not from Sarah.
From Emily.
I recognized her handwriting immediately.
My hands shook as I opened it.
“Marcus, if anything happens to me, please don’t let Michael believe he was the reason I was unhappy.””
I stopped reading.
My eyes blurred.
Linda whispered.
“Emily wrote that because she was afraid.””
“Afraid of what?””
Linda looked at me.
“Sarah.””
I read the rest.
Emily wrote that Sarah had become increasingly jealous.
That she asked strange questions.
That she wanted to know everything about our marriage.
Everything about our home.
Everything about Michael.
Then came the final sentence.
“I don’t think she wants my friendship anymore. I think she wants my place.””
I closed my eyes.
Six years.
Six years I had lived thinking Emily’s last days were peaceful.
Six years believing I had built a new life with someone who respected the past.
When I returned home, Michael was sitting with the box open.
He looked at me.
“Dad?””
I sat beside him.
“I’m sorry.””
“For what?””
“For not seeing.””
He shook his head.
“You’re here now.””
Those words almost broke me.
That night, I called Sarah.
She answered immediately.
“You know.””
“Yes.””
Silence.
“Marcus…”
“Did you know Emily was afraid of you?””
Another silence.
Then:
“She was sick.””
My jaw tightened.
“That’s your answer?””
“No.””
Her voice changed.
“You don’t understand.””
“Then explain.””
“I loved you.””
“You destroyed my son’s memories.””
“I was trying to protect him.””
“From what?””
She didn’t answer.
Then I heard something in the background.
A child crying.
Not Jordan.
A younger child.
“Who is that?””
Sarah went quiet.
“Sarah.””
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
A minute later, another message appeared.
Not from Sarah.
From an unknown number.
A photo was attached.
It showed Sarah standing outside a hospital six years earlier.
And beside her was someone I never expected to see.
Emily.
Alive.
May you like
The message below the picture was only five words.
“Your wife didn’t tell you everything.””
