PART 2 — THE ENVELOPE IN NATHAN’S WORK BAG
Nathan was asleep upstairs.
Sophie was in her room.
The house was quiet.
And I was standing in the kitchen with my husband’s work bag open in front of me.
For eleven years, I had never searched Nathan’s things.
Not once.
We shared a home.
A bank account.
A child.
A life.
I had always believed that if you reached the point where you needed to search your spouse’s pockets, the marriage was already in trouble.
But that night, trouble had already found me.
I kept hearing my brother-in-law’s voice.
“She still doesn’t know?”
Then my mother-in-law.
“No… and she can’t find out yet.”
And finally:
“When Emily finds out… she’ll take Sophie and leave.”
That was the sentence I couldn’t get past.
Not:
She’ll be angry.
Not:
She’ll ask questions.
Not:
She’ll never forgive Nathan.
She’ll take Sophie and leave.
Whatever they were hiding involved my daughter.
That changed everything.
I pulled out Nathan’s laptop.
A charging cable.
Two folders from work.
Receipts.
A notebook.
Nothing unusual.
Then my fingers touched something beneath the interior lining.
I frowned.
The bottom of the bag felt uneven.
I pushed my hand deeper.
There was a zipper I had never noticed before.
Hidden beneath a strip of black fabric.
I opened it.
Inside was a white envelope.
No stamp.
No return address.
Just one word written across the front.
NATHAN.
The handwriting wasn’t mine.
I sat down.
My hands had started shaking.
For a moment, I stared at the envelope and tried to convince myself to put it back.
Maybe it was private.
Maybe this had nothing to do with what I heard.
Maybe I was about to cross a line I could never uncross.
Then I remembered the name of Nathan’s ex-wife.
Rachel.
I had heard it through the open phone line.
In eleven years of marriage, Nathan almost never spoke about Rachel.
They had been married briefly in their twenties.
No children.
Bad ending.
That was the entire story as far as I knew.
He always said:
“It was a mistake we both made young.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside were three things.
A key.
A bank receipt.
And a photograph.
I picked up the photograph first.
Nathan was standing outside an apartment building.
The picture looked recent.
Maybe within the last year.
Beside him stood a woman.
Rachel.
I recognized her from the few old photographs I had seen years ago.
She looked older now.
But unmistakably her.
My stomach tightened.
Then I noticed something else.
There was a child standing between them.
A little girl.
Maybe nine or ten.
Nathan’s hand rested on her shoulder.
I turned the photograph over.
Someone had written:
March 14.
She asked about Emily again.
I stopped breathing.
Again?
The child knew my name?
I looked at the bank receipt.
It showed a transfer.
$2,400.
Sent from an account I didn’t recognize.
To:
Rachel Mercer.
Memo:
Living expenses.
The date was from three weeks earlier.
I stared at it.
Nathan was sending his ex-wife money.
Not once.
Not years ago.
Three weeks ago.
Then I picked up the key.
A small white tag hung from it.
Apartment 6B.
I closed my eyes.
Apartment.
The word from the phone call.
Someone mentioned an apartment.
My hands went cold.
I heard Nathan turn in bed upstairs.
I shoved everything back into the envelope.
Then stopped.
No.
If I put it back, I would spend the entire night wondering.
I took photographs of everything with my phone.
Then returned the envelope exactly where I had found it.
I zipped the hidden compartment.
Closed the bag.
Put it back beside the kitchen table.
And sat there.
For a long time.
I tried to think of innocent explanations.
Maybe Rachel was struggling financially.
Maybe the girl was her daughter from another relationship.
Maybe Nathan was helping out because he felt guilty about the past.
Maybe his family knew and worried I would misunderstand.
But none of those explanations answered the one question that mattered.
Why would I take Sophie and leave?
At 1:18 a.m., I went upstairs.
Nathan was asleep on his side.
He looked peaceful.
I stood in the doorway and stared at him.
This was the man who had held my hand through twenty-six hours of labor when Sophie was born.
The man who made terrible pancakes every Saturday morning because Sophie loved helping him.
The man who still texted me from work:
Need anything from the store?
The man whose family had apparently been discussing how to keep me from learning something about him.
I got into bed.
I didn’t sleep.
The next morning, Nathan behaved normally.
That was almost worse.
He made coffee.
Packed Sophie’s lunch.
Asked whether I had remembered we needed to buy apples for Sunday’s pie.
I stared at him across the counter.
“Everything okay?”
he asked.
“Why?”
“You’re quiet.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
He leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“You should take it easy today.”
My throat tightened.
He was either the most convincing liar I had ever met…
Or there was still something I didn’t understand.
“Are you working late?”
I asked casually.
He nodded.
“Probably.”
“How late?”
“Seven?”
He poured coffee into his travel mug.
“Maybe eight.”
“Big project?”
“Yeah.”
“What project?”
He paused.
Barely.
But I noticed.
“Carlson account.”
I smiled.
“Right.”
I had no idea what the Carlson account was.
But Nathan seemed satisfied.
He kissed Sophie goodbye.
Then me.
And left.
At 8:43 a.m., I called my office and said I was sick.
At 9:10, I dropped Sophie at school.
At 9:32, I was sitting in my car outside Nathan’s office.
I hated myself for being there.
But not enough to leave.
Nathan came out at 11:17.
He wasn’t carrying lunch.
He wasn’t with a coworker.
He got into his car and drove away.
I followed.
Twenty-five minutes later, he turned into a neighborhood across town.
Older apartment buildings.
Small grocery stores.
A laundromat.
A playground.
He parked outside a brick building.
I looked at the address.
My heart started pounding.
The number matched the location on the key tag.
Apartment 6B.
Nathan got out.
He looked around once.
Then entered.
I sat in my car with both hands gripping the steering wheel.
One minute passed.
Then five.
Then twelve.
I should have gone home.
Instead, I got out.
The lobby door wasn’t locked.
I climbed the stairs.
Second floor.
Third.
By the time I reached the sixth, my heart was pounding so loudly I thought someone would hear it.
Apartment 6B was at the end of the hallway.
I stopped several feet away.
Voices came from inside.
A woman.
Rachel.
Then Nathan.
I couldn’t hear the words.
I moved closer.
That was when the door opened.
A little girl stepped into the hallway.
The same girl from the photograph.
She was holding a backpack.
She looked at me.
I froze.
She froze too.
Then her eyes widened.
“You’re Emily.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“How do you know my name?”
The girl looked toward the open door.
Nathan appeared behind her.
The color drained from his face.
“Emily.”
I had imagined confronting him a hundred different ways during the drive.
Angry.
Calm.
Cold.
Instead, all I managed was:
“Who is she?”
Nathan stared at me.
“Emily, you shouldn’t be here.”
I laughed once.
“You think?”
Rachel came into view.
She looked exactly like the photograph.
Older than me.
Tired.
Nervous.
But she didn’t look like a woman caught having an affair.
She looked afraid.
That confused me.
The little girl looked between us.
Nathan put a hand on her shoulder.
“Go inside, sweetheart.”
She didn’t move.
“Dad—”
The word hit me so hard I thought I misheard it.
“What did she call you?”
Nathan closed his eyes.
The girl looked terrified.
Rachel stepped forward.
“Lily, go inside.”
But I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t breathe.
“Dad?”
I repeated.
Nathan looked at me.
“Emily.”
“Is she your daughter?”
Silence.
That was the answer.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Please let me explain.”
“How old is she?”
Nathan’s face changed.
“Emily—”
“How old?”
Rachel whispered:
“Ten.”
Ten.
Nathan and I had been married eleven years.
My vision blurred.
I looked at him.
“You had a child with Rachel while we were married?”
“No.”
“Then explain the math.”
“Lily was born before you and I married.”
I froze.
“What?”
Nathan swallowed.
“Rachel was pregnant when we divorced.”
I stared at him.
“You told me you didn’t have children.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know?”
“Not then.”
Rachel spoke quietly.
“I never told him.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Because I didn’t want him involved.”
Nathan said:
“I found out three years ago.”
Three years.
The hallway tilted.
“You’ve known for three years.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Your mother knows.”
“Yes.”
“Your brother knows.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone knows except me.”
His silence destroyed something inside me.
I looked at Lily.
Ten years old.
Nathan’s daughter.
Sophie’s half-sister.
My daughter had a sister.
And I had never known.
“Is this why you’ve been sending Rachel money?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since I found out.”
I laughed again.
Not because anything was funny.
“Three years?”
“Yes.”
“From what account?”
Nathan looked away.
That was another answer.
“An account you hid from me.”
“I didn’t hide it to steal from you.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“Where did the money come from?”
“My bonuses.”
“Bonuses you told me were smaller because your company was struggling?”
He said nothing.
I felt physically sick.
Rachel touched Lily’s shoulder.
“Maybe we should give them some privacy.”
“No.”
I said it too quickly.
Everyone looked at me.
“No more private conversations.”
I looked at Nathan.
“Not one.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears.
That stopped me.
None of this was her fault.
I lowered my voice.
“Lily, I’m sorry.”
She looked down.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I know.”
She whispered.
Then she looked at Nathan.
“Is Sophie my sister?”
My throat tightened.
Nathan nodded.
“Yes.”
Lily smiled a little.
“She looks like you.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Lily looked at me.
“I’ve seen pictures.”
I turned slowly toward Nathan.
“She’s seen pictures of my daughter?”
“Emily.”
“How many?”
“Please.”
“How much of our life does she know?”
Lily started crying.
Rachel immediately pulled her close.
“That’s enough.”
she said.
For the first time, her voice was firm.
“Whatever you want to ask Nathan, ask him.”
“Leave Lily out of it.”
She was right.
I hated that she was right.
I looked at Nathan.
“Outside.”
We went downstairs.
The moment we reached the sidewalk, I turned on him.
“Three years.”
“I know.”
“You found out you had a daughter three years ago and decided I didn’t deserve to know.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Apparently that’s the problem.”
He rubbed his face.
“Emily, when I found out, Lily was seven.”
“Rachel had been raising her alone.”
“She didn’t want me around.”
“Then why are you around now?”
“Because Lily wanted to know me.”
“And what did Rachel want?”
“She eventually agreed.”
“So you started visiting.”
“Yes.”
“Secretly.”
“Yes.”
“Paying them.”
“Helping them.”
“Secretly.”
“Yes.”
“Introducing our daughter through photographs.”
“I never introduced Sophie.”
“You showed her pictures.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Lily knew she had a sister.”
I stopped.
“How?”
Nathan looked uncomfortable.
“Rachel told her.”
“So Rachel knew about Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
I stared at him.
An entire life existed beside mine.
One where Rachel knew about me.
Knew about Sophie.
Where Lily knew her sister’s name.
Where Nathan visited.
Paid bills.
Took photographs.
And I had been kept outside it.
“Does Sophie know?”
“No.”
“Has she ever met Lily?”
“No.”
“Does your mother see Lily?”
Nathan looked away.
That was when I understood.
“Oh my God.”
“How long?”
“Emily.”
“How long has your mother known Lily?”
“Since she was born.”
I nearly stopped breathing.
“Since she was born?”
“Rachel told Mom.”
“But not you?”
“Yes.”
My mind returned to the phone call.
My mother-in-law saying:
“She still doesn’t know.”
Nathan needs more time.
I whispered:
“Your mother knew you had a daughter before you did.”
“Yes.”
“And she kept it from you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nathan looked toward the apartment building.
“That’s complicated.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course it is.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
He hesitated.
Then:
“My mother helped Rachel leave.”
The sentence didn’t make sense.
“Leave where?”
“Bellmere.”
“Why?”
“Because of my father.”
I frowned.
Nathan’s father had died eight years earlier.
“What does your father have to do with this?”
Nathan’s expression changed.
“More than I knew.”
I stared at him.
“Explain.”
He looked exhausted now.
“My father hated Rachel.”
“I knew that.”
“He thought she was using me.”
“You told me.”
“He offered her money to disappear.”
I felt cold.
“Did she take it?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He threatened her.”
“With what?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Her family.”
I stared.
“What kind of threat?”
“He had connections.”
“What does that mean?”
“My father wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
“That still isn’t an answer.”
Nathan looked at me.
“He told Rachel that if she told me about the baby, he would make sure she lost custody.”
My stomach turned.
“Could he do that?”
“At the time, she believed he could.”
“So your mother helped Rachel run.”
“Yes.”
“And then kept Lily secret.”
“Yes.”
“Even after your father died?”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“That’s the part I still don’t understand.”
I froze.
“What?”
“My mother could have told me then.”
“She didn’t.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”
Something shifted.
The story I thought I understood moved again.
“You mean there’s more.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Nathan looked toward the apartment building.
“Rachel didn’t contact me three years ago because she suddenly changed her mind.”
“Then why?”
“She received a letter.”
“From who?”
“My father.”
I stared at him.
“Your father had been dead five years.”
“I know.”
“What did the letter say?”
Nathan looked at me.
“That Lily wasn’t the only child he had kept hidden.”
The street seemed to go quiet.
“What?”
“My father wrote the letter before he died.”
“It was held by an attorney.”
“Rachel received it when Lily turned seven.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did it say?”
Nathan took out his phone.
He opened a photograph.
An old letter.
I read the first lines.
Rachel,
If Lily reaches seven, there are things Nathan must finally know.
I stopped.
Then read farther.
The child is his.
I lied about the test.
I told you he was not the father because I needed you to leave.
My stomach dropped.
“What test?”
“Dad had demanded a paternity test when Rachel told Mom she was pregnant.”
“And?”
“He told everyone it showed I wasn’t Lily’s father.”
“Did you know about that?”
“No.”
“Rachel believed him?”
“For years.”
“So your mother thought Lily wasn’t your child?”
“At first.”
“Then why help Rachel?”
“Because Mom didn’t trust my father.”
I kept reading.
Then I reached a paragraph that made my skin crawl.
Nathan must never be allowed to search the property on Ashdown Road without knowing what happened there first.
I looked up.
“Ashdown Road?”
Nathan nodded.
“An apartment?”
“No.”
“A house.”
“What house?”
“My father owned it through a company.”
“Does it still exist?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been there?”
He hesitated.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
I stared at him.
That was around the time of the $2,400 transfer.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
His face tightened.
“Not nothing.”
“What?”
He looked at the apartment building.
Then at me.
“A room.”
“What kind of room?”
“Locked.”
“With what?”
“An old key.”
My eyes widened.
“The key in your bag.”
He stared at me.
“You searched my bag.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us apologized.
“What was in the room?”
Nathan lowered his voice.
“Children’s things.”
My stomach turned.
“What children?”
“I don’t know.”
“Old clothes.”
“Two beds.”
“Boxes.”
“Photographs.”
“How old?”
“Some went back twenty years.”
I stared at him.
“What did your father do?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what does that have to do with Lily?”
“Her photograph was there.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“Lily’s?”
“Yes.”
“Recent?”
“Some.”
“Who took them?”
“I don’t know.”
“So someone had been watching her.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
My anger shifted into fear.
“What else was in the room?”
Nathan looked like he didn’t want to say it.
“Nathan.”
“A folder.”
“With whose name?”
He looked straight at me.
“Sophie’s.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Emily—”
“No.”
“What was in it?”
“Photographs.”
“How many?”
“A lot.”
My stomach dropped.
“From when?”
“Since she was a baby.”
I stepped backward.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“No.”
“You know because you put them there.”
“I didn’t.”
“Your mother?”
“I asked her.”
“What did she say?”
“That she had never seen the house.”
“You believed her?”
“No.”
The phone call came back to me again.
When Emily finds out… she’ll take Sophie and leave.
That’s why Nathan needs more time.
Maybe they weren’t afraid I would leave because of Lily.
Maybe they were afraid I would leave because of whatever was connected to that house.
“What else was in Sophie’s folder?”
Nathan hesitated.
“School information.”
My blood ran cold.
“What information?”
“Schedules.”
“Teacher names.”
“Her pediatrician.”
“Our address history.”
I could barely breathe.
“Who has access to this house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why have you been waiting?”
“I haven’t.”
“I hired someone.”
“Who?”
“A private investigator.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“The $2,400?”
He nodded.
“That wasn’t for Rachel?”
“No.”
“The receipt said it was.”
“I made it look that way.”
I stared at him.
“So you lied again.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone watching our finances to know I was investigating.”
I went cold.
“Anyone?”
Nathan stepped closer.
“Emily, I need you to listen.”
“No.”
“I have been trying to figure out who is watching Sophie.”
“You should have told me the second you knew.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought I had time.”
The exact phrase.
Nathan needs more time.
My eyes filled.
“Your mother said the same thing.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“I heard her.”
“Heard what?”
“She forgot to hang up yesterday.”
Nathan went completely still.
I told him everything.
His brother.
Rachel.
The apartment.
Money.
Sophie.
His mother saying he needed more time.
Nathan stared at me.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“That call wasn’t yesterday.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mom called you this morning.”
“No.”
“She called yesterday afternoon.”
Nathan shook his head.
“No.”
“She called me this morning asking whether you were still bringing the pie.”
My pulse slowed.
“What?”
“I told her you were.”
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from my mother-in-law.
Emily, can you call me when Nathan isn’t with you?
My stomach dropped.
Nathan saw the screen.
“Don’t call her.”
“Why?”
His face had gone pale.
“Because she texted me ten minutes ago.”
He showed me his phone.
Nathan, if Emily asks about yesterday’s call, tell her I was confused. Please. Not over the phone.
I looked at him.
“What is happening?”
“I don’t know.”
Then another message arrived on my phone.
From my mother-in-law.
Actually, don’t call.
Go home.
Take Sophie.
Leave the house.
Now.
I stared at the words.
Nathan grabbed my wrist.
“What?”
I showed him.
His face changed instantly.
“We’re getting Sophie.”
“What?”
“Now.”
We ran to the car.
On the drive to Sophie’s school, Nathan called his mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then his brother.
Nothing.
Rachel.
She answered.
“Nathan?”
“Where’s Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“What did she say?”
Rachel went quiet.
“Rachel.”
“She asked if Lily was with me.”
“Why?”
“She said somebody went to Ashdown Road last night.”
Nathan’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“She sounded terrified.”
“What else?”
“She said the room had been emptied.”
Nathan looked at me.
My heart pounded.
“What room?”
I whispered.
He didn’t need to answer.
The locked room.
The photographs.
Sophie’s folder.
Nathan asked:
“Did Mom say who took everything?”
“No.”
“She only said one thing.”
“What?”
Rachel’s voice dropped.
“She said your father’s old partner is back.”
Nathan went white.
“Who?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Victor Hale.”
I looked at Nathan.
“Who is Victor Hale?”
He didn’t answer.
“Nathan.”
“My father’s business partner.”
“I thought your father worked in property development.”
“So did I.”
Rachel whispered through the phone:
“Nathan, don’t go home.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor knows where Emily lives.”
My chest tightened.
Nathan said:
“He already knew.”
“No.”
Rachel’s voice shook.
“You don’t understand.”
“Your father didn’t keep those photographs to watch Sophie.”
Silence.
“Then why?”
I asked.
Rachel heard me.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
Her next words changed everything.
“Those weren’t surveillance photographs.”
“What were they?”
“Progress photographs.”
My blood ran cold.
“Progress of what?”
Rachel started crying.
“Lily had the same kind.”
Nathan nearly missed a red light.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel whispered:
“Your father was tracking both girls.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel.”
“I swear.”
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The reason your mother helped me disappear wasn’t only because of your father.”
Nathan’s face hardened.
“Then why?”
“Because Lily wasn’t the first child connected to your family.”
I stopped breathing.
“What child?”
Rachel said:
“Ask your mother about Anna.”
Nathan went completely still.
“Who is Anna?”
He whispered.
Rachel didn’t answer.
“Rachel?”
The line suddenly went dead.
Nathan called back.
Straight to voicemail.
I looked at him.
“Do you know that name?”
“No.”
But something in his face told me the name had hit him anyway.
We reached Sophie’s school.
I was out of the car before Nathan fully stopped.
I ran into the office.
“I’m here for Sophie Mercer.”
The receptionist looked up.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
Her expression changed.
“Your husband already picked her up.”
Every part of me froze.
“What?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.”
I turned toward Nathan.
He was standing directly behind me.
The receptionist looked at him.
Then back at her computer.
Confusion crossed her face.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at Nathan again.
“That’s strange.”
“What?”
I asked.
“The man showed identification.”
Nathan stepped forward.
“What name?”
She clicked something.
“Nathan Mercer.”
My blood ran cold.
Nathan whispered:
“I’ve been with Emily.”
The receptionist went pale.
“What did he look like?”
“About your height.”
“Dark hair.”
“Gray jacket.”
Nathan and I stared at each other.
“Security cameras.”
I said.
“Now.”
The principal came running.
Within minutes, we were watching the front entrance recording.
At 1:42 p.m., Sophie walked out holding a man’s hand.
My knees almost gave out.
He wore a cap.
Gray jacket.
His face was turned away from the camera.
But Sophie wasn’t frightened.
She was talking to him.
Trusting him.
Then he looked up.
Just once.
The image blurred slightly.
Nathan grabbed the desk.
“No.”
“What?”
I whispered.
He leaned toward the screen.
His face had gone white.
“I know him.”
“Victor?”
Nathan shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He stared at the screen.
“My father.”
I stopped breathing.
“Nathan.”
“Your father is dead.”
“I know.”
“He died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“You went to his funeral.”
“I carried his coffin.”
I looked at the screen again.
The man turned toward the parking lot.
Older.
Grayer.
But unmistakably similar to every photograph I had seen in Nathan’s family home.
Nathan whispered:
“That’s my father.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered with shaking hands.
“Hello?”
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then a man’s voice.
Older.
Calm.
“Emily.”
My knees almost gave out.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Sophie is safe.”
“Put her on.”
“Soon.”
Nathan grabbed the phone.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Then the man laughed softly.
“Hello, son.”
Nathan turned gray.
“You’re dead.”
“Clearly not.”
“Where is Sophie?”
“Where she should have been years ago.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll understand.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“No.”
Nathan’s voice broke.
“If you hurt her—”
“I have never hurt that child.”
“Then bring her back.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Emily knows too much now.”
My blood turned cold.
“What do I know?”
I asked.
The man paused.
“Not enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask Helen.”
Nathan looked at me.
His mother.
“Ask her what happened to Anna.”
“Who is Anna?”
Another pause.
Then:
“The daughter Nathan had before he ever met you.”
Nathan nearly dropped the phone.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Nathan shook his head violently.
“I don’t have another daughter.”
His father laughed.
“That’s what your mother wanted you to believe.”
Then the call ended.
Neither of us moved.
The school office disappeared around me.
Nathan had a ten-year-old daughter he had only learned about three years ago.
Now his supposedly dead father was claiming there had been another daughter before Lily.
A girl named Anna.
And somehow, all of it led back to Sophie.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph arrived from the unknown number.
Sophie.
Sitting on a couch.
Unharmed.
Holding her stuffed rabbit.
Behind her was a wall I recognized immediately.
Not because I had ever been there.
Because I had seen it in Nathan’s photograph.
Ashdown Road.
The hidden house.
Beneath the image were seven words:
BRING NATHAN.
COME ALONE.
ASK HELEN ABOUT ANNA FIRST.
I looked at Nathan.
He was staring at the picture.
Then another message arrived.
And Emily…
If Helen tells you Anna died, she is lying.
CONTINUED
