Chapter 5: The Memory I Buried
The room felt smaller.
The walls felt closer.
My father held the photograph like it was something dangerous.
“Emily.””
His voice was gentle.
Too gentle.
“What does this mean?””
I couldn’t answer.
Because suddenly I was thirteen again.
Standing outside my mother’s hospital room.
Hearing voices.
Seeing shadows.
Remembering something I had spent years trying to forget.
“I don’t know.””
My father looked at me.
“You do.””
I looked down.
My fingers trembled.
“I remember the night Mom died.””
He sat across from me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
Because nobody asked.
Because everyone was crying.
Because after my mother was gone, everyone kept saying I needed to be strong.
And because Karen was always there.
Always listening.
Always watching.
“I thought it was nothing.””
“What did you see?””
I closed my eyes.
The memory came back piece by piece.
The hospital hallway.
The smell of medicine.
The sound of machines.
My mother’s voice.
Then another voice.
Karen.
“I went to Mom’s room that night.””
My father leaned forward.
“Why?””
“She called me.””
His face changed.
“She called you?””
I nodded.
“She told me she needed to talk to me.””
I swallowed.
“But when I got there, Karen was already inside.””
My father went still.
“What was she doing?””
“I don’t know.””
I remembered the door slightly open.
Karen standing beside my mother’s bed.
My mother looked scared.
Not sick.
Scared.
“I heard Mom say, ‘You won’t get away with this.’”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“And Karen?””
“She turned around and saw me.””
A shiver went through me.
“She smiled.””
Even after five years, I remembered that smile.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Like she had been waiting for me to appear.
“She told me my mother was confused because of the medicine.””
My father whispered, “And you believed her.””
I nodded.
“I was thirteen.””
The silence afterward hurt.
My father looked away.
“I failed you.””
I didn’t know what to say.
Because a part of me wanted to tell him he was wrong.
Another part of me wanted him to understand how alone I had been.
Before I could answer, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Michael.
Neither of us moved.
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, my father answered.
“Michael.””
A pause.
Then my father’s expression changed.
“Where are you?””
I listened carefully.
My uncle’s voice was loud enough that I could hear pieces.
“James, you need to understand something.””
My father stood.
“Understand what?””
“You’re making a mistake.””
My father’s hand tightened around the phone.
“You worked with Karen.””
Silence.
Then Michael said:
“I did what I had to do.””
My blood ran cold.
My father put the phone on speaker.
“Why?””
Michael sighed.
“Because your wife destroyed my life.””
My father laughed once.
A painful sound.
“You helped someone hurt my wife because you were angry?””
“No.””
Michael’s voice became harder.
“You still don’t understand.””
“Then explain.””
A long pause.
Then:
“Your wife was going to expose everything.””
My father froze.
“What everything?””
I moved closer.
Michael continued.
“She found out about the company.””
“What about the company?””
Another pause.
Then Michael said something that made my entire body go cold.
“She wasn’t investigating Karen.””
My father’s face changed.
“She was investigating me.””
The call went silent.
I stared at the phone.
My uncle.
The man I trusted.
The man who held my mother’s coffin at her funeral.
He was the person my mother feared.
My father whispered:
“What did you do?””
Michael didn’t answer.
Instead, he said:
“Ask Emily about the night your wife died.””
My heart stopped.
The same words from the photograph.
Before my father could respond, the call ended.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then my father looked at me.
“Emily.””
I knew what he was asking.
“What else happened that night?””
I looked at the old phone.
At my mother’s face frozen on the screen.
Then I remembered something else.
Something I had buried.
Something I had convinced myself wasn’t real.
“I saw Uncle Michael.””
My father’s eyes widened.
“Where?””
“At the hospital.””
“When?””
I whispered:
“Right before Mom died.””
The room went silent.
Because everyone thought Michael had been out of town that night.
Everyone thought he never came.
My father stood slowly.
“He lied.””
I nodded.
But then I remembered the final thing.
The thing that scared me most.
“Dad.””
“What?””
“When I saw him leaving Mom’s room…”
My voice shook.
“He wasn’t alone.””
My father stepped closer.
“Who was with him?””
I looked toward the window.
Toward the darkness outside.
May you like
And I said the name I had never spoken before.
“Karen.””
