Chapter 7: The Woman Who Wanted Her Life
Sarah was waiting outside my house.
I knew she would be.
People like Sarah didn’t run from confrontation.
They controlled it.
She stood beside her car wearing the same calm expression she always wore when she wanted people to doubt themselves.
“Marcus.””
I didn’t invite her inside.
“How did you know?””
She looked away.
“I had access.””
“To Emily’s account?””
“Yes.””
The honesty surprised me.
“You admit it?””
“I’m tired of lying.””
I almost laughed.
“Now?””
She looked at me.
“I made mistakes.””
“Mistakes?””
My voice rose.
“You stole my son’s memories.””
She flinched.
“You think I don’t know that?””
“You threatened him.””
“I was scared.””
“You were jealous.””
Her face changed.
And there it was.
The truth.
Not guilt.
Pain.
“You have no idea what it feels like.””
“What?””
“To spend years standing next to a ghost.””
I stared at her.
“Emily wasn’t a ghost.””
“To you, she wasn’t.””
She stepped closer.
“Every room in that house belonged to her.””
“Because she lived there.””
“Every story was about her.””
“Because she was his mother.””
Sarah’s eyes filled.
“I loved you.””
“You loved what Emily had.””
“No.””
“Yes.””
She looked away.
For the first time, she looked small.
“I wanted what she had.””
The confession was quiet.
Almost a whisper.
“What did you do, Sarah?””
She closed her eyes.
“I didn’t kill her.””
I froze.
“I didn’t ask that.””
“But you thought it.””
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Emily was already sick.””
“Then why hide things?””
“Because she asked me to.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
Sarah looked desperate.
“She knew she was dying.””
“That doesn’t explain anything.””
“She was afraid.””
“Of you?””
Sarah shook her head.
“Of you.””
The anger inside me stopped.
“What?””
“She thought you would destroy yourself.””
I remembered Linda saying something similar.
Sarah saw my expression.
“You don’t believe me.””
“No.””
She nodded slowly.
“I deserve that.””
Then she reached into her bag.
She pulled out a small envelope.
“I kept this because I couldn’t let go.””
I didn’t take it.
“What is it?””
“Something Emily wrote.””
“Why do you have it?””
Sarah looked at the envelope.
“Because she gave it to me.””
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible.””
“She knew.””
“Knew what?””
“That I loved you.””
The words made me sick.
“She knew you loved me?””
Sarah nodded.
“And she forgave me.””
“No.””
I stepped back.
“No, don’t do that.””
“Do what?””
“Don’t use Emily to make yourself innocent.””
Sarah started crying.
“I’m not innocent.””
The admission shocked me.
“I was selfish.””
She handed me the envelope.
“But I wasn’t the only person keeping secrets.””
I looked at the paper.
“What does that mean?””
She whispered:
“Open it.””
I didn’t.
Not there.
Not in front of her.
Because suddenly I was afraid.
Afraid Emily’s words would destroy the version of the past I had spent six years protecting.
That night, after Sarah left, I opened the envelope.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Marcus,
There is something I need you to know.
Sarah did something wrong.
But she also did something I asked her to do.
I stopped reading.
My hands shook.
The next line made my heart freeze.
“She helped me hide the truth about Michael’s birth.””
I dropped the letter.
Michael.
My son.
The child I had raised.
The child I loved more than anything.
May you like
And suddenly, for the first time in six years, I wondered:
Why had Emily never wanted me to see this letter?
