PART 4 — THE SON WHO NEVER EXISTED
“Daniel isn’t Thomas’s son!”
Jonathan’s words echoed through the trees.
For one impossible second, even the rain seemed to stop.
Daniel stared toward the house.
I stared at Daniel.
Neither of us moved.
Then he whispered, “He’s lying.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Thomas was my father.”
“Rebecca just told us Margaret wasn’t your biological mother.”
“That doesn’t mean Thomas wasn’t my father.”
Another shout came from the darkness.
“Sarah! Get away from him!”
Daniel grabbed my wrist.
“We need to move.”
I pulled free.
“Don’t touch me.”
His expression changed.
“Sarah?”
I took out my phone.
Rebecca’s message was still glowing on the screen.
DON’T TRUST DANIEL.
I showed him.
Daniel read it.
His face went blank.
“She sent that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know!”
A branch snapped somewhere behind us.
Daniel looked over my shoulder.
“We can argue after we aren’t being shot at.”
He was right.
Whether I trusted him or not, someone had fired at us.
We moved deeper into the woods.
Jonathan shouted again behind us.
“Sarah! He’s taking you toward the road!”
Daniel suddenly stopped.
I almost crashed into him.
“How does he know where we’re going?”
I looked around.
Dark trees surrounded us.
There was no possible way Jonathan could see us.
Unless—
Daniel grabbed my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Turn it off.”
“What?”
“Your phone.”
I understood.
The messages.
The photograph from the hospital.
Our location.
I powered it down.
Daniel switched off his too.
Then we heard footsteps approaching.
We crouched behind a fallen tree.
A flashlight beam moved between the trunks.
Closer.
Closer.
I held my breath.
Then a hand covered my mouth.
I nearly screamed.
Rebecca.
She crouched beside us.
Blood covered her sleeve.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s a graze.”
Daniel glared at her.
“Why did you tell Sarah not to trust me?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Because I don’t.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“No. But this is.”
She reached into her coat and pulled out a photograph.
It showed a young Margaret holding a little boy.
Daniel.
Beside them stood Thomas.
On the back, someone had written:
DANIEL — AGE 5.
Daniel looked confused.
“So?”
Rebecca flipped it over again.
Beneath the writing was another line, almost completely faded.
I could barely read it.
THOMAS STILL DOESN’T KNOW.
Daniel stopped breathing.
“Doesn’t know what?”
Rebecca’s voice softened.
“That you weren’t his biological child.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Your mother was already pregnant when she met Thomas.”
“No.”
“She never told him.”
“No.”
“Daniel—”
“I said no!”
His voice cracked.
It wasn’t anger anymore.
It was pain.
Rebecca reached toward him.
He backed away.
“Who was my father?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
Daniel stared at her.
“Who?”
“Jonathan Hale.”
The forest seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
I looked at Daniel.
Then at Rebecca.
Then toward the distant house.
“No.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Jonathan is your father too.”
Daniel laughed once.
A broken, disbelieving sound.
“You’re telling me Sarah and I are siblings?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Jonathan tell her to get away from me?”
Rebecca looked frightened.
“Because Jonathan doesn’t know what you’ve become.”
Daniel’s expression hardened.
“What exactly does that mean?”
Before Rebecca could answer, headlights swept through the trees.
“They’re coming.”
She pointed downhill.
“There is an old service road beyond the creek. Follow it east.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll distract them.”
“No,” I said.
Rebecca grabbed my shoulders.
“Sarah, listen carefully. Thomas left more than that backpack.”
“What?”
“There is a bank safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“First National. Box 317.”
“What’s inside?”
“The original records from the night of the crash.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“And the key?”
Rebecca looked at the key in my hand.
“That key opens more than the house.”
A flashlight beam appeared between the trees.
“Go!”
Daniel grabbed my hand.
This time, I let him.
We ran.
Behind us, Rebecca shouted.
Then another gunshot cracked through the forest.
I almost turned.
Daniel pulled me forward.
“Keep moving!”
We reached the creek.
The water was deeper than expected.
We crossed anyway.
Cold water soaked my jeans.
My shoes sank into mud.
When we reached the opposite side, Daniel collapsed against a tree.
“I need a minute.”
I stood several feet away.
He noticed.
“You still don’t trust me.”
“I met you a few hours ago.”
“And apparently we’re related.”
“Apparently.”
He looked toward the ground.
“My whole life just disappeared.”
I understood exactly what he meant.
Thomas wasn’t my father.
My mother wasn’t my mother.
Margaret might have been.
Jonathan might be my father.
Daniel might be my brother.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it was a thirty-year-old crash that had supposedly killed people who never died.
Daniel rubbed his face.
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What?”
“The reason I was looking for Thomas.”
“You said he’d disappeared.”
“That was part of it.”
“What was the other part?”
He looked at me.
“Three years ago, I found something in my mother’s belongings.”
“What?”
“A letter.”
“From Thomas?”
“No.”
“Jonathan?”
Daniel nodded.
I felt sick.
“What did it say?”
“I didn’t read all of it.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas caught me.”
I stared at him.
“You saw Thomas three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“You told me you spent three years trying to find him.”
“I did.”
“After you saw him?”
“Yes.”
My anger rose.
“You made it sound like he vanished without warning.”
“He did.”
“After catching you with that letter.”
Daniel looked away.
“What happened?”
“We fought.”
“About what?”
“My mother.”
“And?”
“He took the letter.”
“What did you read?”
Daniel was silent.
“Daniel.”
“One sentence.”
“What sentence?”
He looked at me.
“Margaret wrote, ‘Thomas can never discover what happened to Sarah.’”
A chill traveled through me.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“You knew about me?”
“I knew someone named Sarah existed.”
“But when you entered the hospital room, you acted like you’d never heard of me.”
“I didn’t know you were that Sarah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Because every five minutes someone tells us something that makes the last thing we learned meaningless!”
I couldn’t argue with that.
We reached the service road.
Daniel found an abandoned maintenance building with a landline inside.
Miraculously, it worked.
He called a taxi company from a town several miles away.
Neither of us mentioned Willow Creek.
Forty minutes later, we were sitting in the back of a cab.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Daniel looked at me.
I knew exactly where we needed to go.
“First National Bank.”
Daniel checked the time.
“It’s almost midnight.”
I shook my head.
“Then my mother’s house.”
He looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because I remembered something.”
After Mom died, I had gone through almost everything.
Almost.
There was one thing I had never opened.
A small locked trunk beneath her bed.
She had once made me promise that if anything happened to her, I would burn it unopened.
At the time, grief had overwhelmed me.
I couldn’t burn another piece of her.
So I’d moved the trunk into the attic.
The taxi dropped us at my childhood home.
I hadn’t been back for months.
The house smelled exactly as I remembered.
Lavender.
Old books.
My mother.
I switched on the hallway light.
Daniel looked at the framed photographs.
“That’s Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
He moved closer.
“She came to our house once.”
I froze.
“What?”
“When I was little.”
“You remember her?”
“Barely.”
“Why didn’t you recognize her in the beach photograph?”
“She looked completely different then.”
“What do you remember?”
“Mom and Eleanor were arguing.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
We climbed into the attic.
The trunk remained beneath an old blanket.
I dragged it into the light.
There was no key.
Daniel examined the lock.
“We could break it.”
I remembered Thomas’s key.
“No.”
I inserted it.
Click.
Daniel stared at me.
“That key is getting ridiculous.”
I lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of letters.
Photographs.
Newspaper clippings.
And a small cassette recorder.
On top was an envelope.
My mother’s handwriting.
FOR SARAH — IF THOMAS FINDS YOU.
My knees nearly gave out.
I opened it.
My sweet Sarah,
If you are reading this, then the past has finally reached you.
I lied to you.
I lied because I loved you.
I was not the woman who gave birth to you.
But there has never been a day when I did not consider you my daughter.
Tears blurred the page.
Daniel sat silently beside me.
I continued.
Your mother was Margaret Whitmore.
The night of the crash, Margaret begged me to take you.
She believed Thomas would destroy everyone to keep you.
But Thomas wasn’t the person she feared most.
I stopped.
Daniel leaned closer.
“Keep reading.”
I forced myself.
The man we feared was Jonathan Hale.
My blood went cold.
That contradicted everything Rebecca had told us.
I kept reading.
Jonathan wasn’t trying to rescue Margaret.
He was trying to control her.
When Margaret attempted to leave both men, everything fell apart.
The crash was staged so she and you could disappear.
But Jonathan discovered the plan.
Margaret survived.
You survived.
And I took you.
For years, Thomas believed you were dead.
Then, eleven years ago, Margaret died for real.
Before her death, she told Thomas the truth.
That’s when he began searching for you.
I covered my mouth.
Thomas hadn’t been stalking me for sinister reasons.
He had been searching for Margaret’s daughter.
I read the next lines.
Thomas was not your biological father.
He knew that.
But he loved you because Margaret loved you.
He wanted to protect you.
If Thomas has found you, listen to him.
But Sarah, never trust Jonathan.
Never let him convince you he is your father until you see the DNA records yourself.
I lowered the letter.
Daniel whispered, “DNA records?”
We searched the trunk.
At the bottom was another envelope.
LAB RESULTS — 1997.
I opened it.
Three names were listed.
Margaret Whitmore.
Sarah — Infant Sample.
And—
I stared.
“What?” Daniel asked.
I handed him the page.
The alleged father’s name had been blacked out.
But someone had written beside it:
NOT J.H.
Jonathan Hale wasn’t my father.
Daniel looked stunned.
“Then who is?”
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
We froze.
Someone was inside the house.
Daniel whispered, “Did you lock the front door?”
“Yes.”
Another creak.
Then another.
Slow footsteps moved through the hallway below.
Daniel grabbed a heavy flashlight.
I reached for my phone.
Still off.
We heard someone climbing the stairs.
Daniel positioned himself beside the attic door.
The handle turned.
The door opened.
Daniel raised the flashlight.
“Don’t!”
Mr. Bennett stood there.
His clothes were soaked.
Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow.
“Get away from us,” I said.
“Sarah, you don’t understand.”
“You locked us in that basement.”
“Yes.”
“You brought armed men to the house.”
“No.”
“We saw you with them.”
“You saw me being brought back by them.”
Daniel lowered the flashlight slightly.
“What?”
Bennett stepped into the attic.
“Jonathan has been following me since Thomas died.”
“Why should we believe you?”
“Because Rebecca is working for him.”
My stomach dropped.
Daniel stared at me.
Rebecca’s message flashed through my mind.
DON’T TRUST DANIEL.
Bennett pointed toward the open trunk.
“Did you find Eleanor’s letter?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know Jonathan lied.”
“We know he isn’t my father.”
Bennett’s expression changed.
“You found the DNA report?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thomas spent years trying to find that.”
“Why?”
“Because the identity of your biological father is the reason everything happened.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Then tell us who he is.”
Bennett looked at me.
“I can’t.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I’m finished with people saying that.”
“Sarah, I genuinely don’t know his name.”
“Then who does?”
Bennett looked toward the cassette recorder.
“Margaret did.”
I picked it up.
There was already a cassette inside.
A label read:
FOR ELEANOR — AUGUST 1997.
We pressed play.
Static filled the attic.
Then a woman’s voice.
Margaret.
“If you’re hearing this, Eleanor, then something went wrong.”
I held my breath.
“Take Sarah and leave. Do not contact Thomas. Do not contact Jonathan.”
Static.
Then Margaret said:
“Sarah’s father doesn’t know she exists.”
My hands tightened around the recorder.
“I never told him because I was afraid of what Thomas would do if he discovered the truth.”
Another burst of static.
“His name is—”
The tape distorted.
“No!”
I hit the recorder.
Daniel leaned closer.
The audio returned several seconds later.
“—and if Sarah ever wants proof, it’s inside the safe-deposit box. Thomas knows the bank, but he doesn’t know the number.”
I looked at Daniel.
“317.”
Bennett nodded.
“Then that’s where Thomas wanted you to go.”
Suddenly headlights illuminated the front windows.
Bennett rushed toward the attic window.
“They found us.”
A car door slammed outside.
Then another.
Daniel looked through the curtain.
“Jonathan.”
“Is Rebecca with him?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Bennett grabbed my arm.
“We need to leave through the back.”
I pulled away.
“Wait.”
Something inside the trunk had caught my attention.
A photograph hidden beneath the lining.
I pulled it free.
Margaret stood beside a young man.
Not Thomas.
Not Jonathan.
The man’s arm was around her.
On the back was a handwritten message:
For Margaret — someday we’ll stop hiding.
Love, R.
Bennett saw the photograph.
His face lost all color.
“You know him.”
Bennett didn’t answer.
“WHO IS HE?”
Before he could respond, glass shattered downstairs.
Someone had entered the house.
Daniel grabbed the photograph.
He stared at the man’s face.
Then slowly looked toward Bennett.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
Daniel held the photograph beside Bennett’s face.
The same eyes.
The same nose.
The same jawline.
Only thirty years younger.
My body went numb.
I looked from the photograph to the elderly lawyer standing in front of me.
Bennett whispered,
“Sarah…”
I backed away.
“No.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Margaret and I were together before she married Thomas.”
The footsteps downstairs grew louder.
I could barely hear them over my heartbeat.
“Are you saying—”
Bennett nodded.
“I never knew about the pregnancy.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Until when?”
“Until Thomas contacted me eleven years ago.”
I stared at him.
The man who had walked into Thomas’s hospital room carrying the backpack.
The man who had watched me marry Thomas without telling me any of this.
The man who had known my mother.
Known Margaret.
Known the crash.
Known almost everything.
“Then you might be my father.”
Bennett’s voice broke.
“Yes.”
Before I could respond, Jonathan shouted from downstairs.
“BENNETT!”
Bennett’s face changed.
Jonathan continued.
“Tell Sarah what you did the night of the crash!”
I looked at Bennett.
“What is he talking about?”
Bennett shook his head.
“Sarah, we have to go.”
“Tell me.”
“Not here.”
“TELL ME!”
The footsteps stopped directly beneath us.
Then Jonathan shouted:
“Ask him who was driving the car!”
Bennett closed his eyes.
I suddenly understood why he’d recognized Willow Creek.
Why he’d remembered the time.
Why Thomas had never completely trusted him.
“You were there,” I whispered.
Bennett said nothing.
“You were driving.”
His silence answered me.
Jonathan laughed from downstairs.
Then he shouted one final sentence.
“Sarah, the man standing beside you didn’t just help Margaret disappear.”
A pause.
“He caused the crash that nearly killed your mother—and then he left you both there to die.”
