Chapter 5: The Marriage That Was a Weapon
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
My father’s words hung in the room like smoke.
You were never his target.
Me.
I looked at him, waiting for him to explain.
Waiting for him to tell me he was wrong.
But Thomas Brand did not correct himself.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Papa…”
My voice cracked.
“You’re saying Gero married me to hurt you?””
My father looked down.
“I’m saying I don’t know exactly what he planned.””
“That’s not an answer.””
“No.””
He looked at me.
“It isn’t.””
The honesty hurt.
I had spent so long surrounded by lies that even the truth felt painful.
Dr. Richter returned to the room quietly.
She must have noticed the tension immediately.
“What happened?””
Nobody answered.
My father closed the file.
“Anna knows about Gero’s father.””
Dr. Richter looked between us.
“And?””
I swallowed.
“And apparently my marriage was never about love.””
The doctor’s expression softened.
“Anna…”
I shook my head.
“No.””
I looked at the documents again.
“I need to understand.””
Because that was the thing Gero had taken from me.
Understanding.
For eighteen months, he controlled the story.
He decided what happened.
He decided what was true.
He decided what I was allowed to believe.
Not anymore.
My father opened the file again.
“After Gero’s father died, the investigation into his company ended.””
“Why?””
“Because the evidence disappeared.””
I frowned.
“Disappeared?””
“Yes.””
“That’s impossible.””
My father gave a humorless smile.
“It happens more often than people think.””
He pointed to the documents.
“These files were copies I kept because I didn’t trust anyone with the originals.””
“Why?””
“Because someone inside the system was helping them.””
A chill moved through me.
“So Gero knew?””
“He knew enough.””
My father took a breath.
“His father spent years blaming me. He believed I ruined his reputation. His business. His life.””
“And Gero?””
“Gero was different.””
My father’s voice became quieter.
“He didn’t want revenge through violence.””
I almost laughed.
Because that sounded impossible.
“Papa, he beat me.””
“I know.””
“He threatened me.””
“I know.””
“He terrified me.””
“I know.””
His voice broke slightly.
“But what I mean is… Gero wanted control.””
That word felt familiar.
Because it described everything.
Control over my clothes.
My friends.
My phone.
My choices.
My thoughts.
“He wanted to prove something,” my father continued.
“What?””
“That he could take everything from me without ever touching me.””
I looked at him.
“But he did touch me.””
My father closed his eyes.
“I know.””
The room became quiet.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time, from Gero.
I didn’t want to open it.
But I did.
*You’re asking the wrong questions.*
Another message appeared.
*Ask your father why he never told you about the night your mother died.*
My breathing stopped.
The room disappeared.
My mother.
The one memory I never questioned.
The accident.
The night my father told me she was gone.
I looked up.
“Why is he talking about Mom?””
My father froze.
Dr. Richter noticed.
“Thomas?””
He didn’t respond.
“Papa.””
Slowly, he looked at me.
And I saw something I had never seen before.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
“What happened that night?””
My father sat down.
“I thought I buried this forever.””
My heart pounded.
“What?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Your mother’s death wasn’t as simple as I told you.””
The words felt like a physical blow.
“No.””
“Anna—”
“No.””
I stepped back.
“No. Mom died in an accident.””
My father looked devastated.
“That’s what I wanted to believe.””
I stared at him.
“You wanted to believe?””
He nodded.
“The official report said her car lost control.””
“And?””
“And there were problems with the report.””
My hands started shaking.
“Problems?””
My father looked at the file.
“Someone had followed us.””
“Us?””
“You and your mother.””
I felt dizzy.
“I was there?””
“You were eight years old.””
The room blurred.
Suddenly, memories I had buried came back.
Rain.
A highway.
My mother singing softly.
My father shouting something.
A crash.
Glass.
Then nothing.
I had always remembered it as a nightmare.
Not a warning.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
My father’s voice was quiet.
“Because I wanted you to have a normal life.””
I laughed bitterly.
“A normal life?””
The irony almost hurt.
“You hid the truth to protect me, and then Gero found me anyway.””
He looked away.
That silence told me everything.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, I didn’t want to look.
But my father did.
His face changed.
“What?””
I turned the phone toward him.
The message was simple.
*You should ask her about the necklace.*
My eyes moved to my neck.
The necklace.
The one my mother gave me.
I had worn it every day since I was sixteen.
A small silver pendant.
The last thing I had from her.
“What does that mean?””
My father stared at it.
“Take it off.””
I froze.
“What?””
“Anna, take it off.””
His voice was urgent.
I reached behind my neck and unclasped it.
The pendant fell into my palm.
My father took it carefully.
Then he turned it over.
There was a tiny mark on the back.
One I had never noticed.
A symbol.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get this?””
“My mother gave it to me.””
“When?””
“Before she died.””
He looked at me.
“No.””
The word was barely audible.
“What?””
He handed it back.
“Your mother didn’t give you this.””
I stared at him.
“Then who did?””
My father looked at the pendant.
Then at me.
“Gero.””
The room went completely silent.
“No.””
My father shook his head.
“He knew this necklace existed.””
“That’s impossible.””
“Anna, listen to me.””
“No.””
I backed away.
“Gero gave me this when we were dating.””
My voice became smaller.
“He told me he found it at an antique shop.””
My father’s face went pale.
“He lied.””
I looked down at the necklace.
The object that had always made me feel connected to my mother suddenly felt like a trap.
“Why?””
My father took the pendant from my hand again.
“Because this symbol…”
He pointed to the tiny mark.
“…belongs to the company his father controlled.””
I felt sick.
My entire life was suddenly filled with things I didn’t understand.
The necklace.
The marriage.
The investigation.
My mother’s death.
Gero.
All connected.
My father’s phone suddenly rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?””
“Who is it?””
He didn’t answer.
Then he slowly handed me the phone.
On the screen was a number.
Unknown.
But the voicemail notification underneath showed the caller had left a message.
My father pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then a man’s voice.
Older.
Distorted.
But clear enough.
“Thomas Brand.””
My father went completely still.
The voice continued.
“You thought you won.””
A pause.
“But you forgot something.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
The recording continued.
“You had a daughter.””
Nobody moved.
Then the voice said the words that made my blood run cold.
“And now she knows the truth.””
The message ended.
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then Dr. Richter quietly asked:
“Who was that?””
My father stared at the phone.
His face had lost all color.
“I don’t know.””
I looked at him.
“But you recognize the voice.””
He didn’t answer.
“Papa.””
Finally, he whispered:
“Yes.””
A cold feeling spread through me.
“Whose voice was it?””
My father looked toward the locked door.
Then back at me.
“The voice of a man who died eight years ago.””
My breath caught.
“Who?””
May you like
My father’s answer came quietly.
“Gero’s father.””
