Chapter 4: The Truth Hidden Behind My Mother’s Death
I read the message again.
Then again.
My hands felt numb.
*Your father discovered something about your mother’s death before he changed his will.*
For twenty-two years, I had lived with the same story.
My mother, Claire, died in a tragic car accident when I was six years old.
That was all my father ever told me.
A rainy night.
A dangerous road.
A terrible accident.
A memory too painful to revisit.
Whenever I asked questions, he would go quiet.
Not angry.
Not dismissive.
Just quiet.
“Some things hurt more the more you touch them,” he once told me.
I thought he was protecting me from grief.
Now I wondered if he was protecting me from the truth.
I looked at the front door of the house.
Behind it was Vivian.
The woman who had just used my mother’s death as a weapon.
My entire body wanted to run inside and demand answers.
But something stopped me.
My father’s voice.
Think before you act, Hannah.
He always said that when emotions were high.
So instead, I walked back to the oak tree and called Mr. Harrison.
He answered after one ring.
“Hannah.””
“Tell me.””
Silence.
“Tell me what my father found.””
I heard him exhale slowly.
“I was hoping Daniel would tell you himself.””
“He never did.””
“I know.””
My voice cracked.
“Why?””
Mr. Harrison was quiet.
“Because your father wanted to be certain before destroying someone’s life.””
I frowned.
“Someone’s life?””
“Yes.””
The wind moved through the branches.
“Are you saying my mother’s death wasn’t an accident?””
“I’m saying your father found information that made him question the official report.””
My heart pounded.
“What kind of information?””
“Hannah, before I continue, I need you to understand something. Your father never wanted revenge.””
“Then what did he want?””
“Protection.””
The word again.
Everything came back to that.
My father protecting me.
My father preparing.
My father knowing something was coming.
“What did he find?””
Mr. Harrison hesitated.
“After your mother died, there were inconsistencies in the accident investigation.””
“Like what?””
“Financial records.””
I closed my eyes.
“Again?””
“Yes.””
“Why does everything come back to money?””
“Because your father discovered a pattern.””
The word made my stomach tighten.
“A pattern involving Vivian?””
“No.””
The answer surprised me.
“Not at first.””
I waited.
“Your father originally suspected someone else.””
“Who?””
Mr. Harrison lowered his voice.
“Someone connected to your mother.””
I sat down beneath the tree.
“My mother?””
“Yes.””
My mind raced through old memories.
My mother’s perfume.
Her laugh.
The way she used to sing while cooking.
I remembered so little.
Six years old was too young.
Most of my memories were small pieces.
A hand holding mine.
A voice saying goodnight.
A yellow sweater she wore all the time.
“What was my father investigating?””
“Your mother had life insurance.””
I frowned.
“Of course she did.””
“Yes. But shortly before her death, the policy was changed.””
I felt a chill.
“Changed to who?””
“That is part of what Daniel discovered.””
“Mr. Harrison.””
“I know.””
His voice softened.
“But I cannot reveal everything before the reading.””
I almost shouted.
“My stepmother threw me out of my home six hours after my father died. She’s trying to sell the house. She used my mother’s death to hurt me. And you’re telling me I have to wait?””
The line went silent.
Then he said:
“You’re right.””
I stopped.
“I’m sorry?””
“You’re right to be angry.””
It was the first time anyone had said that to me all day.
Not calm down.
Not be reasonable.
Not don’t make things worse.
Just:
You’re right.
Mr. Harrison continued.
“Your father left a sealed letter for you.””
My breath caught.
“A letter?””
“Yes.””
“From him?””
“Yes.””
“When do I get it?””
“Tomorrow.””
I looked at the house.
“Why tomorrow?””
“Because he wanted you to read it after the will was opened.””
I swallowed.
“What does it say?””
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“No.””
“That’s impossible. You’re his attorney.””
“I know the legal documents, Hannah. I do not know the contents of every personal message he left.””
I believed him.
Mostly.
But there was something in his voice.
Something heavy.
“Mr. Harrison.””
“Yes?””
“Were you there when my father changed the will?””
“Yes.””
“Was he scared?””
The silence lasted longer this time.
Finally:
“Yes.””
My eyes filled.
“What was he scared of?””
Mr. Harrison answered quietly.
“Losing you.””
The call ended.
I sat there until the sky turned completely dark.
Eventually, I forced myself to move.
I needed somewhere to sleep.
The guesthouse at the back of the property had been empty for years.
My father used it as a workshop.
A place where he fixed old furniture and built things with his hands.
I unlocked the door using the spare key hidden beneath the flowerpot.
Inside, everything smelled like him.
Wood.
Coffee.
The cedar oil he used on his tools.
For a moment, I was six years old again.
Walking behind him as he carried a box.
Watching him build shelves.
Listening as he explained how every piece mattered.
“Even the smallest screw, Hannah,” he once told me, “holds something bigger together.””
I sat on the old wooden chair in the corner.
And cried.
Not the quiet tears I had cried at the hospital.
Not the controlled tears I had cried at the funeral.
These were the tears I had been holding back since the moment my father disappeared from my life.
Hours passed.
Then I heard footsteps outside.
I stood immediately.
The workshop door opened.
Ashley stood there.
I relaxed slightly.
“What do you want?””
She looked uncomfortable.
Very different from the girl who had laughed when she threw my purse outside.
“I need to talk to you.””
I crossed my arms.
“About what?””
She stepped inside.
“About tomorrow.””
I didn’t answer.
Ashley looked around the workshop.
“This was Dad’s favorite place.””
I watched her carefully.
“He never let anyone touch his tools.””
A strange sadness crossed her face.
“He let me once.””
That surprised me.
“He did?””
She nodded.
“When I was fourteen. I broke a chair in the house and tried to fix it myself.””
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“That sounds like you.””
She ignored the comment.
“Dad didn’t get mad.””
“What did he do?””
“He taught me how to repair it properly.””
For a moment, we were just two daughters remembering the same man.
Then the moment disappeared.
Because Ashley looked at me.
“My mom doesn’t know everything.””
I stiffened.
“What does that mean?””
She looked toward the door.
“I mean she thinks she does.””
“Ashley.””
She rubbed her arms.
“There are things Dad found out.””
“About what?””
She hesitated.
“About Mom.””
My heartbeat changed.
“You knew?””
“No.””
She shook her head quickly.
“Not exactly.””
“Then what do you know?””
Ashley looked away.
“Before Dad died, he asked me a strange question.””
“What question?””
She swallowed.
“He asked me if I remembered the night Mom and Dad got married.””
I frowned.
“Why would he ask that?””
“I don’t know.””
“And?””
“He asked me if Mom ever talked about your mother.””
The room became silent.
“What did you say?””
Ashley looked ashamed.
“I said no.””
“Was that true?””
She didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“Ashley.””
She finally looked at me.
“Mom hated talking about Claire.””
My chest tightened.
“Why?””
“I don’t know.””
“You’re lying.””
Her eyes filled with frustration.
“I’m not!””
She lowered her voice.
“But I know Mom changed after Dad started asking questions.””
“What questions?””
Ashley opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
A noise came from outside.
Both of us turned.
A shadow moved past the workshop window.
Ashley’s face changed.
Fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“Someone’s here.””
I walked toward the window.
“Who?””
Ashley grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.””
I looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
“What are you afraid of?””
She whispered:
“My mother.””
Before I could respond, the workshop door handle moved.
Slowly.
Someone was trying to open it.
Ashley stepped back.
I reached for my phone.
The handle stopped.
A voice came from the other side.
A voice I recognized immediately.
Vivian.
“Hannah.””
My blood ran cold.
“What?””
Her voice was calm.
Almost gentle.
“I think it’s time we talked about what really happened to your mother.””
The door unlocked.
May you like
And Vivian whispered:
“Because your father never told you the whole story.””
