Chapter 5 - My Mother’s Secret Promise
The apartment smelled of lavender and medicine.
Family photographs covered one wall. Most showed my grandmother before the stroke, standing beside my mother and Aunt Vivian at birthdays, graduations, and summer picnics.
There were no photographs of Dad.
Lydia gestured toward the sofa.
I remained standing.
“Unlock the door.”
She did not move.
“Now.”
Lydia studied me, then turned the lock.
“You are not a prisoner.”
“Rachel probably thought the same thing.”
“I never touched your friend.”
“You threatened her family.”
“I gave her information.”
“You terrorized her.”
Grandmother Ruth’s hands shook on the arms of her wheelchair.
“Please don’t argue.”
I looked at her.
“Dad told me you died.”
Pain crossed her face.
“I know.”
“Why would he say that?”
“Because I wanted to tell you the truth.”
Lydia sat in a chair opposite me.
“Your father has controlled this story for twelve years.”
“Then tell me your version.”
She reached for a folder on the coffee table.
Inside were photographs of the crash, police reports, insurance records, and handwritten notes.
Lydia placed the first photograph before me.
My mother’s red sedan stood against the guardrail. A dark blue car had stopped several yards behind it.
“That was my vehicle,” Lydia said.
“Were you driving?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No. Anna nearly hit me.”
Lydia explained that she had been traveling home from work when Mom’s car appeared behind her, moving erratically. Mom flashed her headlights, swerved into the opposite lane, then accelerated.
“She was terrified,” Lydia said.
“How could you know that?”
“I saw her face in my mirror.”
The red sedan passed Lydia, lost control on the wet curve, and struck the guardrail. Moments later, the delivery truck entered the curve and collided with the already disabled vehicle.
“So the truck still hit her.”
“Yes, but that was not the beginning.”
“What made her drive like that?”
Lydia placed another image on the table.
A black pickup appeared in the background.
“It had been following her.”
The photograph was too dark to identify the driver.
“Whose truck?”
“Your father’s.”
I laughed once, sharply.
“Dad never owned a black pickup.”
“He borrowed one from the school’s maintenance department.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Ask him.”
Lydia claimed she stopped after the crash and ran toward Mom’s vehicle. Mom was still alive.
“She gave me her wedding ring,” Lydia said, touching the emerald. “She made me promise to protect you.”
My throat tightened.
“Why would she give a stranger her ring?”
“Because she believed Daniel would take everything else.”
“What did she say?”
Lydia’s eyes did not leave mine.
“She said, ‘Tell Emily her father knows why I was running.’”
I looked at my grandmother.
“Do you believe this?”
Ruth nodded weakly.
“Anna called me that afternoon. She said she had discovered something about Daniel. She planned to bring you to my house.”
“What had she discovered?”
Neither woman answered immediately.
“Tell me.”
Lydia took out another document.
It was a bank statement from twelve years earlier. Several transfers had been made from my parents’ savings account to an unfamiliar business.
“Your father was sending money to someone,” she said.
“Who?”
“A woman named Sarah Cole.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Was he having an affair?”
“We believed so.”
I stared at the transfers.
Dad and Mom had seemed happy. But I had been nineteen. Children often saw what their parents allowed them to see.
“Sarah disappeared after the accident,” Lydia continued. “Daniel claimed she was a contractor helping renovate the house.”
“What does this have to do with the women he dates now?”
“Everything. A man capable of hiding one woman while his wife was alive can hide others.”
The logic made no sense.
“You’re warning women away because you think Dad might betray them?”
“I am protecting them.”
“By stalking them?”
“By showing them the truth.”
“You told Rachel my father killed my mother.”
“I told her Anna’s death was not the simple accident Daniel described.”
“Why wait twelve years?”
“Daniel refused to date until recently. There was no one to warn.”
I looked at Grandmother Ruth.
“Why are you living here under a false name?”
“After my stroke, Daniel became involved in my care,” she said. “He told the facility I was confused and that contact with you would be harmful.”
“Vivian would never allow that.”
At the mention of my aunt, Ruth looked away.
“Where is Aunt Vivian?”
“She visits,” Lydia said.
“When?”
“Usually Sundays.”
I pulled out my phone and called Vivian.
She answered on the third ring.
“Emily, honey, I’m in a meeting.”
“I’m with Grandma.”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Not disbelief.
Silence.
“You knew,” I whispered.
“Where are you?”
“Mercy Hills. Apartment 314.”
“I’m coming.”
The call ended.
Lydia seemed almost pleased.
“She can finally stop pretending.”
I turned on her.
“You have spent months frightening innocent women, but you expect me to trust you because you produced old documents?”
“I expected you to question Daniel.”
“What do you want from him?”
“Justice.”
“For what crime?”
“For controlling Anna. For chasing her that night. For isolating Ruth. For lying to you.”
Grandmother Ruth began crying again.
“I should have fought harder.”
I knelt beside her.
“Grandma, why didn’t you contact me yourself?”
“I tried. Letters came back. Calls never connected. After the stroke, I couldn’t manage things alone.”
“Did Dad hurt you?”
“No,” she said. “Not physically.”
“Did he force you to stay here?”
Ruth hesitated.
“The doctors said I needed care. Daniel arranged the finances. Vivian agreed it was best.”
That was not the same as imprisonment.
“Did he tell you I didn’t want contact?”
She nodded.
My heart cracked.
Dad had told me she was dead.
Someone was lying.
Possibly everyone.
The apartment door opened, and Aunt Vivian entered without knocking.
She looked older than I remembered from the previous Christmas. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, and her face had lost color.
She saw me beside Ruth.
“Oh, Emily.”
“How long?” I demanded.
Vivian closed the door.
“How long have you known she was alive?”
“All along.”
The admission struck like a slap.
“You let me mourn her.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“Everyone keeps saying that while lying to me.”
Vivian glanced at Lydia.
“This went too far.”
Lydia stood.
“It went exactly as far as necessary.”
“You threatened Rachel.”
“I persuaded her.”
“You have no right to involve Emily’s friends.”
“And Daniel had no right to bury Ruth while she was alive.”
“Stop!” I shouted.
All three women went silent.
I faced Vivian.
“Did Dad chase Mom the night she died?”
Vivian’s eyes filled with tears.
“He followed her.”
“Why?”
“Anna called him from the road. They argued. He wanted her to pull over.”
“Was he trying to hurt her?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had twelve years to find out.”
“I tried.”
“No. You hid.”
Vivian sat heavily on the arm of the sofa.
“After the accident, Daniel was destroyed. You were destroyed. Mom blamed him completely. She wanted the police to charge him, but they found no proof he caused the collision. Anna had been speeding. Daniel’s truck never touched her car.”
“Why did Mom run?”
“She believed he was having an affair.”
“Was he?”
Vivian looked at the bank documents.
“Daniel said Sarah Cole was helping him with something private.”
“What?”
“He refused to explain.”
Lydia scoffed.
“Because he was guilty.”
Vivian shook her head.
“I never said that.”
“You helped hide Ruth.”
“I helped move her after the stroke because her old home was unsafe.”
“And let Daniel tell Emily she died.”
Vivian’s mouth tightened.
“That was his decision.”
“You could have called me,” I said.
“I was afraid of losing access to you too.”
The excuse was weak, and she knew it.
I gathered the documents from the table.
“I’m taking these.”
Lydia blocked me.
“They belong to Ruth.”
Grandmother Ruth lifted one hand.
“Let her take them.”
Lydia stepped aside.
I moved toward the door.
“Emily,” Vivian said, “what are you going to do?”
“What all of you should have done twelve years ago.”
“Which is?”
“Ask my father.”
I drove directly to Dad’s house.
His car was in the driveway.
Through the front window, I saw him setting the dining table.
Two places.
A vase of flowers stood in the center.
He was preparing dinner for Rachel.
For one painful moment, he looked like the hopeful man he had been before six women vanished.
Then he noticed me outside.
He opened the door.
“You’re early. Is Rachel with you?”
I held up the photograph of my mother’s wreck.
Dad’s face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the woman wearing Mom’s wedding ring.”
The color drained from his cheeks.
He stepped backward.
“Emily, come inside.”
“Is Grandma alive?”
His eyes closed.
That was my answer.
I entered the house and shut the door.
“Tell me everything,” I said. “And this time, if you lie, I walk out and you will never see me again.”
Dad looked at the folder in my hands.
Then he removed the silver chain from beneath his shirt.
My mother’s plain gold anniversary band hung from it.
May you like
“I always knew this day would come,” he whispered.
---
