Chapter 5: The Woman Who Knew Too Much
I didn’t sleep.
Again.
That became my life after my father died.
Night was when the questions got louder.
During the day, people could distract me.
Documents.
Phone calls.
Conversations.
But at night, there was only me.
And the truth.
My father had spent years protecting me from something.
My mother’s death wasn’t what I thought.
Karen wasn’t who I thought.
And now someone was warning me that other people had disappeared.
I sat on Lucille’s porch before sunrise.
The air was cold.
A mug of untouched cocoa sat beside me.
“You look like your father.””
I turned.
Thomas stood behind me.
I hadn’t heard him walk outside.
“Everyone says that.””
He smiled sadly.
“He would have hated hearing that.””
“Why?””
“Because he always said you weren’t supposed to become him.””
I looked down.
“What was he like before everything?””
Thomas sat beside me.
“Your father?””
I nodded.
He smiled.
“He was stubborn.””
I laughed quietly.
“That sounds right.””
“He believed every problem could be fixed if you worked hard enough.””
“That sounds like him too.””
Thomas looked toward the trees.
“He loved your mother.””
I was quiet.
“I barely remember her.””
“You were young.””
“What was she like?””
His expression softened.
“She was brave.””
“Like my dad?””
“No.””
He smiled.
“She was braver.””
That surprised me.
“How?””
“Your father fought battles after they happened. Your mother saw them coming.””
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?””
Thomas didn’t answer.
Instead, he handed me a small notebook.
“This belonged to her.””
My hands froze.
“My mom’s?””
“Yes.””
I opened it carefully.
The pages were worn.
The handwriting was delicate.
Most of it was normal.
Shopping lists.
Phone numbers.
Notes about me.
Then I reached a page near the back.
One sentence was underlined.
*Karen knows.*
My heart jumped.
I looked at Thomas.
“What does this mean?””
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“No.””
“Then why give it to me?””
“Because your father wanted you to have it when you were old enough to understand.””
I turned the page.
There was another note.
*If anything happens to me, check the old farmhouse.*
I looked up.
“What farmhouse?””
Thomas went still.
“Our old property.””
“The one in the photograph?””
“Yes.””
“Why would my mother leave a note about it?””
Thomas stood.
“Because something was hidden there.””
The drive to the farmhouse took an hour.
The entire time, nobody spoke.
The building was abandoned.
The paint was peeling.
The windows were broken.
But when Thomas unlocked the front door, I felt something strange.
Like the house remembered my family.
“This is where you and your dad lived before I left,” Thomas said.
I walked through the rooms.
The kitchen.
The hallway.
The living room.
Then I stopped.
There was a mark on the wall.
A height chart.
My name was written beside it.
Matthew.
Age 4.
Age 5.
Age 6.
I touched the faded pencil lines.
My father had been here.
My mother had been here.
A version of my life existed inside these walls.
A happier one.
Thomas opened a closet.
“Your father said your mother hid something behind here.””
We moved the old shelves.
Behind them was a small metal box.
My hands shook.
Thomas looked at me.
“Your mother wanted you to find this.””
I opened it.
Inside was a stack of papers.
And a photograph.
The photograph showed Karen.
But younger.
Standing beside a different man.
The same man from the restaurant photo.
Behind the photograph was a date.
A date from before Karen met my father.
I flipped through the papers.
Bank transfers.
Names.
Signatures.
Then one document made my blood run cold.
A life insurance policy.
My father’s name.
The beneficiary:
Karen.
The date:
Two weeks before my mother died.
I looked at Thomas.
“She planned this.””
Thomas didn’t answer.
Because he knew.
I grabbed another paper.
There was an address written at the bottom.
And a name.
A woman.
Someone I had never heard of.
Thomas read it.
His face changed.
“No.””
“What?””
He took the paper from my hand.
“This can’t be.””
“Who is she?””
Thomas stared at the name.
Then whispered:
“Your mother’s sister.””
I blinked.
“My aunt?””
“Yes.””
“But my mom was an only child.””
Thomas looked at the document.
“That’s what everyone believed.””
A phone rang.
Thomas pulled his phone from his pocket.
He answered.
“Hello?””
His face slowly changed.
“What?””
I watched him listen.
Then stand.
“Where?””
A pause.
“Are you sure?””
He looked at me.
“Matthew…”
“What happened?””
Thomas lowered the phone.
“That woman.””
“What woman?””
“Your aunt.””
May you like
His voice became quiet.
“She’s alive.””
