Chapter 6 - The Trap We Set at Dad’s House
Dad sat at the kitchen table while I remained near the doorway.
I did not trust myself to sit beside him.
The room held too many memories.
Mom laughing at the stove.
Dad spinning her across the tile floor.
The three of us eating Sunday breakfast while sunlight poured through the windows.
Now every happy memory seemed contaminated by a question.
“Start with Grandma,” I said.
Dad nodded slowly.
“Your grandmother did not die.”
“I know.”
“I should never have told you she did.”
“Why did you?”
“Because after her stroke, she became convinced I had murdered your mother. Every conversation turned into accusations. She called your workplace. She contacted your friends. She told people you were living with a killer.”
“So you erased her?”
“I panicked.”
“You could have told me she was ill.”
“I should have.”
“Did you control her finances?”
“I managed part of the trust that paid for her care. Vivian was co-authorized.”
“Did you stop her letters?”
“No.”
“Did you block her calls?”
Dad hesitated.
“I changed your number after she repeatedly called you at night.”
“You told me we changed it because of spam.”
“Yes.”
The ease with which he admitted the lie made me feel sick.
“You decided what I was allowed to know.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“From my own grandmother?”
“From grief that had turned into obsession.”
I placed the crash photograph before him.
“Was she wrong?”
Dad stared at it for a long moment.
“No,” he said. “I did follow your mother that night.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because she misunderstood something and refused to listen.”
“Sarah Cole?”
His eyes snapped toward me.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“The bank records.”
Dad rubbed both hands over his face.
“Sarah was not my lover.”
“Then who was she?”
“A private investigator.”
The answer was so unexpected that I almost laughed.
“What were you investigating?”
“Your mother’s brother.”
“Mom didn’t have a brother.”
“That was what she believed.”
Dad explained that Grandmother Ruth had given birth to a son at seventeen and placed him for adoption. Decades later, the son—Michael—contacted her.
Ruth feared the revelation would destroy her family, so she kept him secret.
“But Michael wanted money,” Dad said. “He claimed he was entitled to part of the family property. Your mother received anonymous letters and thought someone was threatening Ruth. I hired Sarah to investigate without telling Anna because Ruth begged me not to reveal the adoption.”
“Why were the transfers from your joint account?”
“I made a terrible decision. I intended to replace the money from my retirement bonus.”
“How much?”
“Almost twenty thousand dollars.”
Mom had discovered the payments and assumed Dad was supporting another woman.
“She confronted me that afternoon,” he continued. “I tried to explain, but Ruth called and begged me not to reveal Michael. I chose to protect your grandmother’s secret instead of telling my wife the truth.”
“So Mom left.”
“She said she was taking you and going to Ruth’s house.”
“I was at college.”
“She planned to pick you up.”
Dad followed her in the maintenance truck because his car was being repaired. He called repeatedly, but Mom refused to answer. When she finally did, they argued.
“I told her I could explain if she pulled over. She said she never wanted to see me again.”
His voice broke.
“I should have stopped following her. I should have let her go. But I was terrified she would leave before hearing the truth.”
“Were you driving aggressively?”
“I was too close.”
“How close?”
“I don’t know. Close enough that she could see me.”
“Did you force her off the road?”
“No.”
“Did the police believe you?”
“They investigated. The truck’s data showed I was behind her but never struck her car. Witnesses said Anna was speeding before I appeared.”
“Lydia said Mom gave her the ring.”
Dad’s expression hardened.
“Lydia Shaw stole that ring.”
“She said Mom was alive.”
“She was alive for several minutes. Lydia reached the car before the ambulance.”
“Then you lied when you said she died instantly.”
“I was trying to spare you the image of her suffering.”
Again, protection through deception.
“What did Mom say?”
“According to Lydia, Anna blamed me. But Lydia changed her statement three times. First, she told police Anna said your name. Later, she claimed Anna said I was dangerous. Months after that, she said Anna confessed I had been abusing her.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
His answer was firm.
“Did you ever hit her?”
“Never.”
“Threaten her?”
“No.”
“Control her?”
Dad looked down.
“I was jealous sometimes. Stubborn. I made decisions without including her. I hid the investigation. If that is control, then yes. But I never wanted her afraid of me.”
I believed parts of his story.
That frightened me more than if I believed none of it.
“Why does Lydia have the ring?”
“She told police it had fallen near the car. She claimed she kept it because Anna asked her to. Ruth believed her. The police could not prove theft.”
“Why is Lydia still involved?”
“She became close to your grandmother after the accident. Lydia lost her own daughter in a crash years earlier. I think she transferred all that grief onto Anna.”
“Did you know she was warning women away?”
“No.”
I watched him carefully.
“Six women vanished.”
“I thought they rejected me.”
“Rachel received threats about her family.”
His face changed instantly.
“What threats?”
I explained what had happened.
Dad stood.
“Where is she?”
“At work. She’s safe for now.”
“Call the police.”
“We need evidence.”
“We have messages.”
“Not enough to identify Lydia.”
Dad paced toward the window.
“I never should have dated anyone.”
“That is exactly what she wants you to believe.”
“People are being hurt because of me.”
“They are being hurt because Lydia chose to terrorize them.”
He turned.
“How did you find her?”
I told him about Mercy Hills.
When I mentioned Grandmother Ruth, sorrow crossed his face.
“I paid for that apartment,” he said. “I never wanted her abandoned.”
“You wanted her silent.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “At the time, I did.”
His honesty surprised me.
“I hated her for blaming me. I hated myself more. Every time she spoke, I heard the accusation I already carried inside.”
“You were driving behind Mom.”
“Yes.”
“You frightened her.”
“Yes.”
“If you had told the truth about Sarah, she might still be alive.”
Dad’s eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
The word came out as a whisper.
He did not defend himself.
He did not blame the rain, the truck, or Mom’s speed.
He accepted that his secrecy had helped create the disaster.
For twelve years, I had viewed my father as a victim of tragedy.
Now I saw a more complicated man—loving, flawed, ashamed, and responsible for decisions that could never be undone.
“I’m angry with you,” I said.
“You should be.”
“I don’t know whether I can forgive you.”
“I understand.”
“But I don’t believe you murdered Mom.”
Dad lowered his head.
That small mercy seemed to break him.
He gripped the back of a chair, shoulders shaking.
“I loved her,” he said. “I loved her more than anything, and when she needed the truth, I gave her another lie.”
I wanted to comfort him.
I did not.
Not yet.
The front door opened.
Rachel entered using the spare key I had given her years earlier.
She stopped when she saw us.
“Emily texted me,” she said to Dad.
He looked ashamed.
“I’m sorry you were threatened.”
“You didn’t threaten me.”
“It happened because you went out with me.”
“No. It happened because someone believes she owns your grief.”
Rachel placed her phone on the table.
“I received another message.”
The screen showed a photograph taken through Dad’s front window.
It showed the two of us standing in the kitchen minutes earlier.
Beneath it was one sentence.
You should have listened.
Dad rushed toward the window.
The street appeared empty.
Rachel locked the door.
“She knows Emily found her,” she said.
My phone rang.
Aunt Vivian.
I answered on speaker.
“Emily,” she said breathlessly, “Lydia took Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I returned to Mercy Hills. The apartment is empty. Her clothes and medication are gone.”
“Where would Lydia take her?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad’s expression changed.
“Yes, you do,” he said.
Vivian fell silent.
“Daniel—”
“The lake house.”
“What lake house?” I asked.
Dad grabbed his keys.
“Your grandmother owns a cabin near Lake Harmon. It has been empty since Anna died.”
Rachel stepped in front of him.
“You cannot rush there alone.”
“My mother-in-law is medically fragile.”
“And Lydia wants you emotional.”
Dad stopped.
Rachel was right.
This was no longer only about exposing the truth. Lydia had taken a vulnerable woman and deliberately drawn Dad toward a place connected to Mom.
“We call the police,” I said.
Vivian’s voice came through the phone.
“You don’t understand. Lydia has documents.”
“What documents?”
“The original letter Anna wrote the day she died.”
Dad stared at the phone.
“What letter?”
Vivian began crying.
“She left it at Mom’s house. Lydia found it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because the letter says Anna was afraid of Daniel.”
The room went silent.
Dad’s face collapsed.
Rachel looked at me.
I picked up my coat.
May you like
“We’re going to the lake house,” I said. “But we are going prepared.”
---
