Chapter 10 - THE LETTER THAT CAME BACK
Three months after my daughter was born, I had finally learned how to sleep again.
Not deeply.
Not peacefully.
But enough.
I had learned to wake up when Lily cried.
I had learned how to hold her with one arm while making coffee with the other.
I had learned that motherhood was not always beautiful.
Sometimes it was exhaustion.
Sometimes it was fear.
Sometimes it was standing in the middle of a nursery at three in the morning, staring at the tiny person in your arms and wondering whether the world was safe enough for her.
But Lily was mine.
That was enough.
The Whitmore estate had been sold.
My father had resigned from every board.
My mother had moved into a small house two states away.
And Evan was in prison.
For the first time in years, nobody was telling me what to do.
Then the letter arrived.
No return address.
No name.
Just my name written across the envelope.
I opened it at the kitchen table.
Inside was a single sentence.
YOU STILL DON'T KNOW WHO YOUR FATHER IS.
I stared at the words.
My first thought was Evan.
But the handwriting was different.
My second thought was my biological father.
I laughed.
Then I stopped.
Because I had always believed Richard Whitmore was my father.
He had raised me.
He had loved me.
He had held my hand when I was sick.
He had taught me how to ride a bicycle.
But the letter did not say:
You don't know who your father was.
It said:
You don't know who your father is.
My hands began to shake.
I called my father.
He answered immediately.
“Emily?”
“Did you send me a letter?”
Silence.
“No.”
“Do you know what this means?”
Another silence.
“Emily, where are you?”
I looked at the envelope.
“Home.”
“Leave the house.”
My heart began pounding.
“Dad—”
“Now.”
His voice had changed.
It was the voice of the general.
The voice he used when danger was close.
I grabbed Lily.
“Why?”
“Because I made a mistake.”
I froze.
“What kind of mistake?”
“I thought the past was finished.”
A noise came from upstairs.
I turned.
“Dad?”
“Emily?”
“Someone is in the house.”
The line went silent.
Then my father shouted:
“Get out!”
The call ended.
I ran.
I grabbed Lily’s diaper bag and rushed toward the back door.
A shadow moved across the hallway.
I screamed.
Then the door opened.
Daniel stood there.
I nearly collapsed.
“Daniel?”
He looked at Lily.
Then at me.
“What happened?”
I showed him the letter.
His face changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in the mailbox.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
He pulled me outside.
We ran to his car.
Only after we were several streets away did I realize I was shaking.
Daniel parked near a police station.
My father arrived twenty minutes later.
He looked at the letter.
Then he looked at me.
“I owe you the truth.”
I stared at him.
“You said that before.”
“I know.”
“And you lied.”
“I know.”
“Then why should I believe you now?”
He looked at Lily.
“Because if I don't tell you now, you may never get the chance to hear it.”
I felt cold.
He sat down.
“When you were born, I was not your biological father.”
I stared at him.
The room became silent.
Daniel looked at me.
I couldn't breathe.
“Then who is?”
My father closed his eyes.
“His name was Michael.”
“Who was Michael?”
“A soldier.”
“Was he part of the operation?”
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
My father continued.
“Your mother was married to him before she met me.”
I stared.
“My mother was married?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“He died.”
“How?”
My father looked at me.
“Officially, he died in combat.”
“Officially?”
My father looked away.
“He was murdered.”
The words hit me.
“By whom?”
My father said nothing.
I stood.
“By whom?”
He finally answered.
“By my order.”
The room disappeared.
I looked at him.
“No.”
“I was ordered to eliminate him.”
“Why?”
“Because he had betrayed the operation.”
“Did he?”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
I felt sick.
“You killed my father?”
“I didn't know he was your father.”
The words sounded meaningless.
I walked away.
My entire life had been built on lies.
My mother had hidden the truth.
My father had hidden the truth.
Evan had used the truth.
And now a dead man had returned to my life.
Then my father said:
“Michael may not be dead.”
I turned.
“What?”
May you like
He looked at me.
“We never found his body.”
