Chapter 3: The Secret Behind My Father's Death
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The man's voice echoed through the house.
“Monique! Open the door!””
My mother stood frozen in the spare bedroom doorway, her fingers pressed against her lips. The notebook lay open on the bed, and my father's photograph trembled in my hand.
Kayla leaned toward me.
“Do you know who that is?””
I shook my head.
But my mother did.
I could tell by the way her face had drained of color.
“Mom,” I whispered.
“Who is downstairs?””
She swallowed.
“Someone who should have stayed away.””
The pounding came again.
“Monique, I know you're home!””
My mother moved toward the stairs.
I caught her wrist.
“No. You're not walking away from this again.””
She looked down at my hand.
“Tiana, please.””
“You've said that word all night. Please explain. Please understand.
Please don't ask questions.”” I tightened my grip.
“I'm done being the person you protect by lying to her.””
Her eyes filled.
“I was trying to protect you.””
“From what? The truth?””
She pulled free and descended the stairs.
Kayla and I followed.
At the front door, my mother stopped with her hand on the lock.
She looked back at me.
“If you hear things tonight that hurt you, remember that I loved you before any of this happened.””
I felt something inside me harden.
“Love doesn't make lies disappear.””
She opened the door.
A tall man stood on the porch beneath the yellow light.
He was in his late forties, perhaps early fifties, with graying hair, a weathered face, and a dark jacket that looked too warm for the evening. He carried a thick manila envelope under one arm.
When he saw me, he stopped.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he looked at my mother.
“You told her?”” he asked.
“No,” Monique replied.
His jaw tightened.
“Of course you didn't.””
“Get off my porch, David.””
He ignored her and looked at me.
“You must be Tiana.””
I stepped forward.
“Who are you?””
“My name is David Ellis. I knew your father.””
“Everyone knew my father. That doesn't explain why you're standing here telling my mother I need to know what happened to him.””
David glanced at Monique.
“Because she isn't going to tell you.””
My mother crossed her arms.
“You have no right to come here.””
“I have every right. I've spent eighteen years keeping my mouth shut because you asked me to. I watched that little girl grow up believing a lie, and I'm done with it.””
“Stop,” Monique said.
“Why? Afraid she'll finally ask the right questions?””
Kayla moved beside me.
“Sir, if you know something, say it.””
David nodded.
He held out the envelope.
“Your father didn't die the way your mother told you.””
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“What happened?””
David looked directly at me.
“Your father, Michael, was involved with another woman. On the night of the crash, he was supposed to meet her. Your mother found out.””
Monique's face twisted.
“That is not how it happened.””
“Then tell her how it happened,” David challenged.
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
David continued.
“Your father left home that night after an argument. He told Monique he was going to meet a client. But I knew the client. There was no meeting.””
I stared at him.
“How do you know?””
“Because I was the one who introduced him to the woman.””
The room seemed to tilt.
My father, the man my mother had described as devoted and gentle, had been unfaithful?
It was a different kind of shock from the pregnancy, but no less devastating. I had spent my childhood holding onto the few memories I had of him, polishing them into something perfect because there was so little left.
Now someone was telling me those memories had been built on a lie.
“Who was she?”” I asked.
David hesitated.
My mother stepped between us.
“That's enough.””
“No,” I said.
“Who was she?””
David lowered his voice.
“Her name was Renee.””
I had never heard that name.
“Was she the passenger?””
He nodded.
I looked at the newspaper clipping again.
The surviving passenger.
My father had been driving with another woman when the crash happened, and my mother had spent eighteen years allowing me to believe he was coming home from work.
“Did she survive?”” I asked.
“Yes.””
“Then where is she?””
David glanced at Monique.
“She disappeared a few months after the accident.””
“Disappeared?””
“Left town. Changed her name, as far as I know.””
I turned to my mother.
“You knew about this?””
Her eyes shone with tears.
“Yes.””
“And you never told me?””
“You were six years old!””
“I grew up, Mom!””
My voice broke on the last word.
“I became an adult. I asked you questions about him. I asked you what his favorite song was, what he wanted to be when he grew up, what his last words were. You gave me stories, and I believed every one of them.””
Monique reached for me.
I stepped away.
“Did you tell me the truth about anything?””
She looked as if I'd struck her.
David opened the envelope and pulled out several documents.
“I brought these because there is something else you need to see.””
My mother lunged toward him.
“David, don't.””
He moved the papers out of her reach.
“It's too late.””
He placed them on the dining table.
The top page was a photocopy of a police report. The second was a typed statement bearing my mother's signature.
I leaned over the table.
The report listed the time of the accident, the location, and the condition of both occupants. The driver's name was Michael Carter.
The passenger's name had been redacted in the copy.
But the statement beneath it was unmistakable.
I was not present when the argument began. I arrived after Michael had already left the house.
My mother's signature appeared at the bottom.
I read it twice.
Then I looked up.
“You told the police you weren't there.””
Monique's mouth opened.
David answered for her.
“She was there.””
My mother's face twisted with anger.
“You don't know what you saw.””
“I saw your car at the intersection. I saw you standing in the rain beside the wreck. And I saw you take something from the passenger's side before the ambulance arrived.””
The room went silent.
I looked at my mother.
“What did you take?””
She shook her head.
“Nothing.””
David let out a bitter laugh.
“Still lying.””
“I said nothing!””
“Then why did you tell me you had burned it?””
My mother recoiled.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“What did she burn?””
David looked at me.
“A letter.””
“What letter?””
“One Renee had written to your father. It said she was pregnant.””
The word struck me like a slap.
Pregnant.
Again.
I stared at the documents, then at the photograph, then at my mother.
“Was she carrying his baby?””
David nodded.
My knees weakened, and Kayla caught my elbow.
“Sit down,” she whispered.
I shook my head.
“Did Dad know?””
“According to Renee, yes.””
“According to Renee?””
David took a breath.
“She contacted me months after the accident. She said Michael had promised to leave your mother and start a new life with her. She claimed they were arguing in the car when he lost control.””
My mother pressed her palms against the dining table.
“That's a lie.””
David turned toward her.
“Then why did you go to the crash site?””
“I was trying to find him!””
“After following him?””
Her silence was answer enough.
I stared at her.
“You followed Dad?””
She began to cry.
“I was scared. I knew he was leaving me. I knew he was going to abandon us, and I couldn't—”
“Couldn't what?””
“I couldn't lose everything!””
Her voice rose so sharply that even David fell silent.
She covered her face.
“I had a child. I had a mortgage. I had a life with him. I thought if I could make him listen, if I could make him understand what he was doing to us, he would come home.””
My throat tightened.
“What happened at the crash?””
She shook her head.
“I didn't cause it.””
David looked unconvinced.
“Then explain the letter.””
“I found it in the car. I took it because I couldn't bear the thought of my daughter growing up knowing her father had another family.””
“That wasn't your decision to make,” I said.
My mother looked at me through her tears.
“I know.””
“No, you don't. You made that decision for eighteen years.””
I backed away from the table.
Every answer seemed to open another door into something worse.
My father had been unfaithful.
My mother had followed him.
A pregnant woman had been in the car.
And the truth had been buried beneath a story I had repeated at school, at family gatherings, and every time someone asked me about the man whose face I could barely remember.
I wanted to leave.
But one question remained.
“Did Dad die before you reached the car?””
My mother stared at me.
David lowered his head.
Neither answered.
“Mom,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“Did you see him alive?””
She began shaking her head.
“I don't remember.””
“You don't remember?””
“It happened so fast.””
“David said you took something from the car. You must remember something.””
She pressed her hands against her temples.
“I heard the crash. I ran toward the intersection. The car was smoking. I called his name.””
“And?””
She closed her eyes.
“And I saw him.””
I felt my pulse pounding in my throat.
“Was he alive?””
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Yes.””
The room went utterly still.
David looked at her sharply.
“Monique.””
She seemed to realize what she'd said.
“No,” she whispered.
“I mean, I don't know. I thought I saw him move.””
“Did you call for help?”” I asked.
“I called 911.””
“Before or after you took the letter?””
She stared at me.
I already knew the answer.
“You took it first,” I whispered.
“I was confused!””
“You took the letter while your husband was trapped in a wreck?””
“I thought he was already dead!””
David slammed his palm against the table.
“You told me the ambulance had already arrived!””
“I panicked!””
“Enough!”” I shouted.
Both of them stopped.
I pressed my hands against my chest, trying to breathe.
I couldn't reconcile the woman standing before me with the mother who had taught me to ride a bicycle, held my hand at the dentist, and cried on my high school graduation day.
But they were the same woman.
That was the part I couldn't escape.
My mother had loved me.
And she had lied to me.
Both things were true.
David gathered the papers.
“There's more,” he said quietly.
I stared at him.
“How could there possibly be more?””
He pulled a final photograph from the envelope.
It showed a woman standing outside a hospital, holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
On the back, a handwritten note read:
*Renee and her daughter. Six months after Michael's death.*
My mouth went dry.
“Her daughter?””
David nodded.
“Renee had the baby. She raised her alone for years, then moved away.””
I looked at the infant's tiny face.
Something about the photograph unsettled me, though I couldn't explain why.
“Where is she now?””
David hesitated.
“She's back in town.””
My mother made a small, strangled sound.
I turned to her.
“You know where she is.””
Monique shook her head.
But David was already reaching into the envelope again.
He removed a business card and placed it in front of me.
A local law office.
Beneath the firm's name was a handwritten note.
*Renee Carter — appointment confirmed, Monday, 10:00 a.m.*
I stared at the name.
Carter.
My father's surname.
“Why would she be meeting with a lawyer?”” I asked.
David's expression changed.
“Because she has something that belonged to your father.””
“What?””
He glanced at my mother.
Then he looked at me.
“His original will.””
My mother gripped the back of a chair.
“David, please don't.””
He ignored her.
“Your father left instructions before he died. Instructions that were never carried out.””
“What instructions?””
David took a long breath.
“He left a separate inheritance for the child he believed Renee was carrying. But the money was placed in a trust, and the trust was supposed to be divided if there were any other children.””
I frowned.
“Other children? I was his only child.””
David didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at the photograph of Renee holding the newborn.
Then he said, “That is what your mother wanted you to believe.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I turned slowly toward Monique.
“Am I not his only child?””
She stared at me with terrified eyes.
And for the first time in my life, my mother looked less like someone protecting me from the truth and more like someone terrified of what I might discover.
She whispered four words.
“Your father had another daughter.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The baby in Renee's arms.
The woman who had vanished.
The inheritance my father had left behind.
Then my phone vibrated.
A new message appeared from an unknown number.
*Tiana, this is Renee. I've waited eighteen years to tell you who your father really was. But before you meet me, you need to know something about Jordan and your mother.*
A second message arrived.
*The baby Monique is carrying may not be Jordan's.*
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Behind me, my mother whispered my name.
And suddenly, the pregnancy test on the glass coffee table was no longer the only piece of evidence that could destroy my family.
