Chapter 4: The Story My Mother Hid
For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Not because of the words themselves.
Because of who said them.
Nathan.
The man who had spent the entire night rewriting reality.
The man who could turn a violent moment into "an accident.""
The man who could turn fear into "instability.""
The man who had built an entire story about me being dangerous.
And now he was telling me to ask my mother about my own past.
My first thought was that he was lying.
Of course he was lying.
It was another trick.
Another way to distract me.
Another way to make me question myself.
But then my phone buzzed.
Claire.
*"Don't ignore that.""*
I stared at the message.
Another one appeared.
*"Ask your mother.""*
My stomach tightened.
I hated that two people were telling me the same thing.
I hated that a part of me already knew there was something I didn't understand.
My mother and I had never been especially close.
Not because we didn't love each other.
Because we had spent years avoiding certain conversations.
The kind that made the room uncomfortable.
The kind where she would suddenly become busy washing dishes.
The kind where I would ask a question and she would say, "Maybe another time, sweetheart.""
I always assumed it was about old family problems.
Everyone had them.
Everyone had things they didn't like discussing.
But now?
Now I wondered if my entire childhood had been built around a secret.
My daughter began crying.
The sound pulled me back.
I lifted her from the crib and pressed her against my shoulder.
"It's okay," I whispered.
But I wasn't sure if I was saying it to her.
Or to myself.
Outside the bathroom, Nathan knocked again.
"Emma.""
I didn't answer.
"You're making a mistake.""
I looked at the door.
"No," I whispered.
My voice surprised me.
It was steady.
"I'm finally noticing one.""
Silence.
Then Nathan laughed quietly.
Not because something was funny.
Because he didn't believe I could stand up to him.
"You have no idea what you're involved in.""
The words made my skin crawl.
Because they weren't angry.
They were confident.
Like he knew something I didn't.
"You think Claire is your friend?""
He continued.
"She isn't.""
I stayed silent.
"You think she wants to help you?""
A pause.
"She wants revenge.""
I looked at my phone.
At Claire's messages.
At the evidence.
Maybe she did want revenge.
Maybe she did hate Nathan.
But that didn't change what was happening in my house.
It didn't change what he did.
"You should be asking why she waited eight years," Nathan said.
My eyes narrowed.
Because that was a fair question.
Why now?
Why tonight?
Why after everything happened?
Nathan heard my silence.
"You see?""
His voice softened.
"Even you know something isn't right.""
I hated that he was good at this.
He didn't force people to believe him.
He planted doubts.
Then he waited for them to grow.
My phone buzzed again.
Claire.
*"He's going to make you question me.""*
I froze.
A second message.
*"That's what he does.""*
I looked at the door.
Then at my phone.
*"Why did you wait?""*
The reply came slowly.
*"Because I thought I was protecting my daughter.""*
I swallowed.
*"From him?""*
Three dots.
Then:
*"From myself.""*
I frowned.
Another message came.
*"After losing custody, I spent years believing maybe he was right.""*
My chest tightened.
*"He convinced me I was the problem.""*
I looked at the bathroom mirror again.
At my reflection.
At the woman I barely recognized.
That was exactly what Nathan had been doing to me.
Making me question my own memories.
My own emotions.
My own reality.
The baby monitor crackled.
Lily's voice.
"Nathan.""
I looked up.
She sounded scared.
"What did you mean when you said her mother?""
A long silence followed.
Then Nathan answered.
"I meant Emma doesn't know everything.""
"About what?""
Another pause.
"About why her mother gave her up.""
My blood turned cold.
My daughter stirred.
I held her tighter.
No.
That couldn't be true.
My mother never gave me up.
Never.
I had memories.
Birthday cakes.
School pictures.
Her hand holding mine when I crossed the street.
But Nathan had a way of making even impossible things sound believable.
I typed to Claire.
*"What does he mean?""*
No response.
The seconds stretched.
Then a new message appeared.
Not from Claire.
From my mother.
My heart stopped.
I hadn't even realized Claire had somehow caused me to contact her.
Maybe I had pressed her name.
Maybe I had done it without thinking.
The screen showed:
*Mom calling...*
I stared.
Nathan knocked again.
"Emma.""
My mother kept calling.
I answered.
But I didn't speak.
For a moment, all I heard was her breathing.
Then:
"Emma?""
My eyes filled instantly.
"Mom.""
A pause.
A terrible pause.
Because mothers know.
They know when their children are hurt.
They know when something is wrong.
"What happened?""
My lips trembled.
"Nathan.""
Silence.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
That was worse.
My grip tightened.
"Mom?""
She exhaled.
Slowly.
Like she had been afraid of this exact moment for years.
"He told you.""
I froze.
The bathroom suddenly felt freezing.
"Told me what?""
Another silence.
"Emma...""
My mother sounded older.
Tired.
Defeated.
"He found out.""
My heart pounded.
"Found out what?""
Before she answered, the baby monitor clicked.
Nathan's voice.
Closer.
"Who are you calling?""
I looked at the door.
My mother heard him.
Her breathing changed.
"Emma, listen to me.""
Her voice became urgent.
"You cannot leave that room.""
My eyes widened.
"What?""
"You cannot open that door.""
I stared at the cabinet.
The barricade.
The thing I had created because I was afraid.
Now my mother was telling me the same thing.
"Mom, what is happening?""
She lowered her voice.
"There is something I should have told you years ago.""
I waited.
My daughter slept against me.
The world seemed to stop.
Then my mother said:
"Nathan did not choose you by accident.""
My blood went cold.
"What do you mean?""
"He knew who you were before you met him.""
I stopped moving.
"No.""
"Emma—"
"No.""
I shook my head.
"That's impossible.""
But my mother didn't argue.
Because she knew.
"He approached you because of your family.""
My mind raced.
Every memory.
Every conversation.
Every moment with Nathan.
The first time we met.
The way he seemed to know things about me.
The way he always appeared exactly when I needed someone.
I thought it was fate.
I thought it was love.
My mother whispered:
"He wanted something from us.""
My voice barely came out.
"What?""
Before she could answer, there was a loud bang against the bathroom door.
I screamed.
My daughter woke up crying.
Nathan shouted from the hallway.
"Emma!""
My mother heard.
"Is he there?""
I couldn't answer.
Another bang.
The cabinet moved slightly.
My heart raced.
"Mom...""
Her voice broke.
"Emma, you need to listen carefully.""
Another bang.
"Whatever you do—"
The door shook.
"Do not let him get the baby.""
The call suddenly cut off.
I stared at my phone.
Dead.
No signal.
No call.
Nothing.
Then my phone lit up again.
A new message.
From Nathan.
Not from the hallway.
From his own number.
The message contained only one sentence.
May you like
And when I read it, I understood why my mother had been afraid.
*"Ask her why she never told you who your real father was.""*
