Chapter 6: The Truth My Father Left Behind
I read the note so many times that the ink began to blur.
*Ask Brenda about the night I died.*
Five words.
That was all.
But they carried more weight than any accusation I had ever heard.
My father had written them.
Not someone pretending to know him.
Not a stranger trying to destroy my marriage.
My father.
I held the paper against my chest and tried to breathe.
For years, I had believed my parents’ death was the one tragedy in my life that had no hidden meaning.
A rainy night.
A dangerous road.
A terrible accident.
That was the story everyone told me.
The story I accepted.
But now, standing in my apartment with my father’s handwriting in my hands, I realized something terrifying.
Maybe I never knew the whole story.
I called Sarah immediately.
She answered after the second ring.
“Emma?””
My voice barely worked.
“Sarah, I need you to come over.””
A pause.
“What happened?””
“I found something.””
“What?””
I looked down at the note.
Something about saying it aloud felt impossible.
“My father left me a message.””
Silence.
Then:
“Emma, what kind of message?””
I swallowed.
“One about Brenda.””
Sarah didn’t ask questions.
She just said:
“I’m coming.””
Twenty minutes later, Sarah was sitting at my dining table, reading the note.
Her expression became more serious with every second.
“Where did you find this?””
“On the table.””
“Was your apartment unlocked?””
“Yes.””
She looked around.
“Did you notice anything missing?””
“I don’t know.””
She stood and walked toward the desk.
The drawers were still open.
The papers scattered.
“This wasn’t random.””
“What do you mean?””
“Someone was looking for something.””
I felt a chill.
“Something they didn’t find?””
Sarah turned back toward me.
“Maybe.””
I looked at the photograph that had been inside the envelope.
It showed my parents standing outside a restaurant.
They were younger.
Happy.
Alive.
I had never seen this picture before.
My father had his arm around my mother.
And standing beside them was someone else.
A woman.
My heart stopped.
“Sarah.””
She looked at the photograph.
“Do you know who that is?””
I pointed.
The woman standing next to my parents.
The woman smiling like she belonged there.
“Brenda.””
Sarah stared at the picture.
“Are you sure?””
“Yes.””
I had seen that face hundreds of times.
The same sharp eyes.
The same confident smile.
The same expression she wore whenever she believed she was right.
But this picture was different.
This Brenda looked younger.
Kinder.
Almost like a completely different person.
“Why was she with my parents?””
I asked.
Sarah didn’t answer.
Because neither of us knew.
I spent the next hour searching through old boxes.
Boxes I hadn’t opened in years.
My parents’ belongings had stayed untouched because looking through them hurt too much.
But now I needed answers.
Inside an old wooden box, I found birthday cards.
Old receipts.
Family photographs.
And then—
A small notebook.
My father’s handwriting was on the cover.
I froze.
I opened it carefully.
Most of it was ordinary.
Work notes.
Grocery lists.
Little reminders.
Then I reached a page dated two months before the accident.
My hands started shaking.
*Met with Brenda again today. She refuses to accept that the property stays with Emma.*
I stopped.
Sarah leaned closer.
“What does it say?””
I read aloud.
“She keeps saying Brandon deserves a chance. She says Emma doesn’t understand how much he needs help.””
Sarah looked at me.
“Brandon?””
I kept reading.
*I don’t trust this situation. Emma is too trusting. She sees the good in people, even when they don’t deserve it.*
My throat tightened.
That was my father.
He always said I believed the best in everyone.
Maybe that was my greatest weakness.
The next lines were harder.
*I told Brenda clearly. The apartment belongs to Emma. No one else. If anything happens to me, I want Emma to know that she should never let anyone pressure her into changing ownership.*
The room went silent.
I closed the notebook.
My hands were trembling.
My father knew.
He knew someone might try.
Someone like Brenda.
Sarah sat back slowly.
“Emma.””
I looked at her.
“This changes things.””
“How?””
“Your father suspected something before his death.””
I stared at the notebook.
“But suspected what?””
“That’s what we need to find out.””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Brenda knew my parents.””
“Yes.””
“She knew about the apartment.””
“Yes.””
“She knew Brandon.””
Sarah’s expression changed.
“Emma…”
“What?””
She hesitated.
“Did you ever ask how Brandon and Brenda knew about your parents’ estate?””
I felt my stomach drop.
No.
I never had.
Why would I?
When I met Brandon, I thought he was just another person who entered my life at the right time.
I thought everything happened naturally.
But what if it didn’t?
I called Brenda.
Sarah looked surprised.
“Are you sure?””
“No.””
I looked at the phone.
“But I need to hear her lie.””
Sarah understood.
Sometimes people revealed the truth more clearly when they were trying to hide it.
The call connected.
Brenda answered immediately.
“Emma.””
Her voice was cold.
Not surprised.
Almost like she expected me.
“We need to talk.””
“If this is about yesterday—”
“It’s not.””
A pause.
“Then what?””
I looked at the photograph.
“I found something from my father.””
Silence.
Real silence.
The kind that happens before someone reacts.
“What did you find?””
My heart started beating faster.
“You know my father?””
Another pause.
Then Brenda laughed.
A little too quickly.
“What kind of question is that?””
“An honest one.””
“Emma, your father was a good man.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“You knew him.””
“I knew of him.””
“No.””
My voice hardened.
“You knew him.””
She became quiet.
Then:
“Why does this matter?””
Because you’re afraid.
That was what I wanted to say.
Instead, I asked:
“Why were you with my parents in a photograph?””
Nothing.
No answer.
No immediate denial.
Just silence.
Then Brenda said:
“Where did you get that?””
I froze.
Not:
“What photograph?””
Not:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.””
Where did you get that?
She knew.
She absolutely knew.
“Why does that matter?””
“Emma, listen to me.””
Her voice changed.
Suddenly softer.
Almost concerned.
“I think you’re digging into things you don’t understand.””
My stomach tightened.
“What things?””
“Things from before you were old enough to know.””
“Before my parents died?””
Another silence.
“Yes.””
The way she said it made my blood run cold.
“What happened that night, Brenda?””
“Nothing.””
“Then why is my father’s note telling me to ask you?””
Her breathing changed.
“You found his note?””
“Yes.””
Another long silence.
Then she said something I never expected.
Something that made my entire body freeze.
“Your father shouldn’t have left that for you.””
I couldn’t speak.
Because that wasn’t the answer of someone who knew nothing.
That was the answer of someone who had hoped I would never find it.
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking.
Sarah looked at me.
“She knows.””
I nodded.
“Yes.””
“What did she say?””
I looked at the phone.
Then at the notebook.
Then at the photograph.
“She said my father shouldn’t have left the note.””
Sarah’s face changed.
“Emma…”
“She knew there was something to find.””
Before Sarah could answer, my phone buzzed.
A message.
From Brandon.
*We need to talk. It’s about my mother.*
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
*She knows you found the notebook.*
My blood went cold.
I looked up at Sarah.
“How would she know?””
Neither of us spoke.
Because the answer was becoming impossible to ignore.
Someone had been watching me.
Someone had been reporting back.
And then another message appeared.
This one was from an unknown number.
*Emma, don’t trust Brandon. He’s not the one who told Brenda.*
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then a final message appeared.
*It was someone much closer to you.*
