Chapter 6: The Voice That Wasn’t Mine
The first thing I felt was anger.
Not sadness.
Not fear.
Anger.
Because I knew that voice.
I knew my father’s voice.
And hearing it say those words felt like someone had reached inside my chest and crushed something I had spent my entire life protecting.
“I wish Maya had never been born.””
The sentence echoed through the storage unit.
Lily looked at me.
Her eyes filled with confusion.
Because she was eight years old, and she still believed parents were supposed to have answers.
She still believed love was something adults could not fake.
My father looked at Vanessa.
“What did you do?””
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Vanessa smiled.
The same smile she had worn every time she wanted someone else to feel powerless.
“I showed Maya the truth.””
I stared at the phone.
“No.””
Vanessa looked at me.
“No?””
“That’s not real.””
Her smile widened.
“You heard him.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
My father stepped closer.
“Vanessa, explain.””
She laughed.
“You still don’t understand, Marcus.””
“Explain.””
“You always thought you were the victim.””
Her eyes moved toward me.
“But you weren’t the only one hurting.””
I felt my stomach twist.
“What are you talking about?””
She looked satisfied.
“Your father hated what happened to his life after your mother died.””
My father’s face changed.
“Stop.””
But Vanessa continued.
“He blamed everyone.””
“Stop.””
“He blamed himself.””
“Vanessa.””
“And sometimes…”
She looked directly at me.
“He blamed you.””
The words hit harder than the recording.
Because for one terrible second, a small part of me believed her.
A small part of me remembered every time my father had looked tired.
Every time he had avoided conversations.
Every time I wondered if I was the reason our family never recovered.
Then my father spoke.
“Maya.””
I looked at him.
His eyes were full of pain.
Not anger.
Pain.
“That recording isn’t what you think.””
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“Oh, now it’s fake?””
My father ignored her.
“Maya, listen to me.””
I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
But I was sixteen again.
Standing in that kitchen.
Hearing someone accuse me.
Waiting for someone to believe me.
“How do I know?”” I asked.
My father froze.
“How do you know what?””
“How do I know what’s real anymore?””
The silence afterward was unbearable.
Vanessa looked pleased.
Because that was what she wanted.
Not just to destroy evidence.
To destroy trust.
She had spent years making us question ourselves.
My father took the phone from her hand.
“I’m getting this analyzed.””
Vanessa’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
Because I had learned her patterns.
Fear always came before anger.
“You think that will help?””
“Yes.””
“You’re choosing her over me?””
My father looked at her.
“I’m choosing the truth.””
For the first time, Vanessa looked genuinely afraid.
Then she turned around.
“You’ll regret this.””
She walked toward the exit.
My father grabbed her arm.
“Where are you going?””
She looked at his hand.
“Let go.””
“Not until you explain everything.””
She pulled away.
“You want explanations?””
She smiled.
“Fine.””
She pointed at me.
“Ask her why she never wondered why her mother died.””
My blood went cold.
“What?””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Ask her why her mother was so afraid.””
My father’s face hardened.
“Enough.””
But Vanessa was already leaving.
“Ask her what was inside the envelope your mother never sent.””
The door slammed.
And we were left standing there.
With more questions than answers.
On the drive home, nobody spoke.
Lily finally broke the silence.
“Dad?””
“Yeah?””
“Did you really say that?””
My father gripped the steering wheel.
“No.””
“Then why did it sound like you?””
He didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
And that scared me.
That night, my father called someone he knew who worked with digital evidence.
The phone recording was analyzed.
I sat at the kitchen table while the specialist examined the file.
The room felt smaller with every passing minute.
Finally, the man looked up.
“There’s something strange.””
My father leaned forward.
“What?””
“The audio has been edited.””
My heart stopped.
“How?””
“Multiple pieces of recordings were combined.””
My father looked at me.
Vanessa’s voice appeared in my mind.
You heard him.
But we hadn’t.
Not really.
We had heard what she wanted us to hear.
The specialist continued.
“Whoever created this knew what they were doing.””
My father looked at the screen.
“Can you recover the original?””
The man hesitated.
“Maybe.””
“How long?””
“A few days.””
A few days.
That felt like forever.
Because Vanessa was still out there.
And she had already shown us she was willing to do anything.
Later that night, I couldn’t sleep.
I sat on my bedroom floor surrounded by my mother’s belongings.
Then I noticed something.
The photograph.
The one of my mother, Rachel, and Vanessa.
I turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
A date.
And four words.
“Trust the second copy.””
I stared at it.
Second copy?
What did that mean?
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
But then I saw the message.
A photo attachment.
A picture of my mother’s notebook.
Taken from inside my room.
My blood turned cold.
Someone had been inside our house.
The message underneath said:
“You’re looking in the wrong place.””
Then another message arrived.
“You need to find what your mother hid from Vanessa.””
I stared at the screen.
Because whoever sent it knew something.
Something Vanessa didn’t want us to find.
And then a final message appeared.
May you like
One name.
Rachel.
