Chapter 7: The Person I Trusted Most
I stared at the message until the screen went dark.
Then I turned it back on.
Read it again.
*Don’t trust Brandon. He’s not the one who told Brenda.*
*It was someone much closer to you.*
Someone closer.
The words settled in my mind like a stone.
Because there were only a few people who knew enough.
Sarah.
Claire.
Brandon.
And maybe…
No.
I refused to think it.
I refused because some truths are so painful that your mind protects you from them before your heart can break.
“Emma?””
Sarah’s voice pulled me back.
I looked up.
“What?””
“You’ve been staring at your phone for a minute.””
I handed it to her.
She read the message.
Her expression tightened.
“Did this come from the same number?””
“Yes.””
“Have they contacted you before?””
“Yes.””
She placed the phone down carefully.
“Emma, whoever this is knows a lot.””
I looked at the photograph of Brenda with my parents.
“I think they know everything.””
That night, I barely moved.
I sat in the living room with every piece of evidence spread across the table.
The photograph.
My father’s notebook.
The documents involving Brandon and Brenda.
The messages.
It looked like the remains of someone else’s life.
But it was mine.
My entire marriage had become a mystery I was investigating.
The person who was supposed to know me best had become the person I trusted least.
At midnight, I heard footsteps outside my apartment.
My body immediately tensed.
For one second, I thought someone was trying to get in.
Then I heard a knock.
Three slow knocks.
I didn’t move.
The knocking came again.
“Emma?””
Brandon.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
I walked to the door but didn’t open it.
“What do you want?””
“Please open the door.””
“No.””
A pause.
“Emma, we need to talk.””
“You said that yesterday.””
“I know.””
“Then talk through the door.””
Silence.
Then his voice became softer.
“Your mother found out about the notebook because she was looking for it.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
“She knew your father wrote something.””
“How?””
“I don’t know.””
“Brandon.””
My voice shook.
“You expect me to believe you don’t know?””
“I swear.””
I leaned against the door.
For the first time, he sounded afraid.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Afraid.
“Why did she want it?””
“I don’t know.””
“You’re lying.””
“I’m not.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
Another pause.
Then he said:
“My mother has been trying to fix this for years.””
I frowned.
“Fix what?””
“Our situation.””
“What situation?””
He exhaled.
“Emma…”
“No.””
I opened the door.
Brandon stood there looking exhausted.
But I didn’t feel sorry for him anymore.
“What situation?””
He looked at the apartment.
Then back at me.
“The apartment.””
I felt something inside me go cold.
“Say it.””
“She wanted control over it.””
“Why?””
He swallowed.
“Because she thought it belonged to our family.””
I almost laughed.
“Our family?””
“Yes.””
“Brandon, my parents died.””
“I know.””
“This was their gift to me.””
“I know.””
“Then why did your mother think she deserved it?””
He looked away.
That was when I understood.
Because she had convinced him too.
I stepped back.
“Tell me everything.””
Brandon looked nervous.
“Emma…”
“Everything.””
He stood silently for several seconds.
Then he walked inside.
But this time, he didn’t act like he belonged there.
He looked like a guest.
A stranger.
He sat at the table.
“I met my mother when she was already struggling.””
I said nothing.
“She raised me alone. She always believed life had cheated her.””
“That doesn’t excuse anything.””
“I know.””
“Keep going.””
He nodded.
“She saw your apartment as security.””
My stomach tightened.
“Security?””
“Yes.””
“For who?””
He looked at me.
“For me.””
The honesty hurt.
Maybe more than another lie would have.
“You knew.””
“Yes.””
“How long?””
He rubbed his face.
“Before we got married.””
I looked away.
Seven years.
Seven years of wondering if I was enough.
Seven years of trying harder.
Seven years of believing our problems were normal.
And all along, there had been something else.
“What did she tell you?””
“That we should protect our future.””
“Meaning?””
“She wanted me to convince you to add my name.””
My throat tightened.
“And you tried?””
He didn’t answer.
“Brandon.””
“I thought about it.””
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“You thought about taking the one thing my parents left me?””
“No.””
“Yes.””
He looked devastated.
But I was past being comforted by regret.
Regret came after damage.
Not before.
My phone buzzed.
Neither of us moved.
Another message.
I picked it up.
Unknown number.
*Ask him about the night of the accident.*
My heart stopped.
I looked at Brandon.
He saw my expression.
“What is it?””
I didn’t answer.
I showed him the phone.
The color drained from his face.
“Who sent that?””
“Why are you scared?””
“I’m not.””
“You are.””
He stood suddenly.
“Emma, you need to stop listening to whoever this is.””
“Why?””
“Because they’re trying to destroy us.””
I looked at him.
“Maybe they’re trying to show me the truth.””
His face changed.
Just slightly.
But again, I saw it.
Fear.
Not confusion.
Fear.
“What happened the night my parents died?””
He went completely still.
“Emma.””
“Answer me.””
“I don’t know.””
“You do.””
“No.””
“Then why did your face change?””
He looked away.
That was all the proof I needed.
The next morning, I went to see Claire.
I didn’t tell her why.
I just sent one message.
*We need to talk.*
She agreed immediately.
When she arrived at the café, she looked nervous.
Good.
She should have been.
“I know you hate me,” she said.
I looked at her.
“I don’t have the energy to hate you.””
That seemed to hurt her more.
“I’m sorry.””
I didn’t respond.
Instead, I placed the photograph on the table.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get this?””
Another person who asked the wrong question.
“You know this woman?””
Claire looked down.
“Emma…”
“Answer me.””
“Yes.””
“How?””
She swallowed.
“Brandon introduced us.””
My stomach tightened.
“When?””
“Before your wedding.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
She looked ashamed.
“I didn’t know why at the time.””
“Why what?””
“Why he wanted me to meet her.””
I leaned forward.
“Claire.””
She closed her eyes.
“Brenda asked me questions about you.””
“What kind of questions?””
“About your parents.””
My hands went cold.
“What?””
“She wanted to know if you planned to keep the apartment forever.””
The world seemed to tilt.
“You knew?””
“I didn’t understand.””
“You didn’t understand?””
“I thought she was just being curious.””
“No.””
My voice became quiet.
“You were my best friend.””
“I know.””
“You knew my parents.””
“I know.””
“You knew that apartment was all I had left.””
Tears filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
I looked at her.
“Not this time.””
She wiped her face.
“There’s something else.””
I froze.
“What?””
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Brandon wasn’t the first person Brenda approached.””
My heart began racing.
“Who was?””
Claire looked at me.
“Your father.””
I couldn’t breathe.
“What?””
“She tried to make a deal with him.””
I stared at her.
“What kind of deal?””
Claire looked terrified.
“I don’t know all the details.””
“Then what do you know?””
She leaned closer.
And said the words that changed everything.
“She offered your father money.””
The café suddenly felt too loud.
Too bright.
Too normal.
Because my entire life had just shifted.
My parents’ accident.
The apartment.
Brenda.
Brandon.
All of it was connected.
My phone buzzed.
I looked down.
A new message.
From the unknown number.
*Now you’re ready to hear what really happened that night.*
And beneath it was a location.
May you like
A place I recognized.
The road where my parents died.
