The headlights swept across the cabin windows.
\nI froze with the photograph still in my hand.
\n\u201cRebecca,\u201d I whispered into the phone. \u201cIs that you?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nHer answer came so quickly that my blood went cold.
\n\u201cEmily, lock the door.\u201d
\nI stared toward the stairs leading out of the storage room.
\n\u201cWho is it?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. But nobody else was supposed to know about that cabinet.\u201d
\nGravel crunched beneath tires outside.
\nThen the engine stopped.
\nRebecca\u2019s breathing came sharply through the phone.
\n\u201cListen to me. Take the letters and leave.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cThe letters tied with the blue ribbon. Take them.\u201d
\nI looked at the stack inside the cabinet.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause if someone came there tonight, that\u2019s what they\u2019re looking for.\u201d
\nA car door slammed.
\nI grabbed the letters.
\nThen another thought hit me.
\n\u201cRebecca, how did you know about the cabinet?\u201d
\nSilence.
\n\u201cRebecca?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ll explain everything. Just get out.\u201d
\nFootsteps sounded above me.
\nSomeone was inside the cabin.
\nMy stomach tightened.
\nI switched off the storage-room light and backed against the wall.
\nThe footsteps crossed the wooden floor overhead.
\nSlowly.
\nDeliberately.
\nThis wasn\u2019t someone wandering into the wrong cabin.
\nThey knew where they were going.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I shoved Richard\u2019s letter, the photograph, and the blue-ribbon letters into my handbag.
\nThen I noticed something else inside the cabinet.
\nA thick brown envelope marked:
\nFOR EMILY \u2014 ONLY AFTER SHE KNOWS ABOUT SARAH.
\nI grabbed that too.
\nThe footsteps stopped.
\nDirectly above me.
\nThen I heard the storage-room door handle move.
\nI held my breath.
\nOnce.
\nTwice.
\nThen someone knocked.
\n\u201cEmily?\u201d
\nI nearly screamed.
\nIt was Thomas.
\nRichard\u2019s oldest son.
\n\u201cEmily, I know you\u2019re down there.\u201d
\nI didn\u2019t answer.
\n\u201cOpen the door.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy are you here?\u201d
\n\u201cRebecca called me.\u201d
\nI looked at my phone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cRebecca?\u201d
\nShe was still on the line.
\n\u201cI did not call him,\u201d she whispered.
\nMy heart began pounding harder.
\nThomas tried the handle again.
\n\u201cEmily, Dad wasn\u2019t thinking clearly toward the end. There are private family documents down there. They don\u2019t concern you.\u201d
\nRebecca heard him.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t give him anything.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause Thomas has spent twenty years making sure nobody learns what Dad did.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did Richard do?\u201d
\nBefore she could answer, Thomas slammed his fist against the door.
\n\u201cOpen it!\u201d
\nI stepped backward.
\n\u201cLeave, Thomas.\u201d
\n\u201cYou have no idea what you\u2019re looking at!\u201d
\n\u201cThen explain it.\u201d
\nSilence.
\nThen his voice softened.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah was our father\u2019s mistress.\u201d
\nRebecca inhaled sharply through the phone.
\n\u201cHe\u2019s lying.\u201d
\nThomas continued.
\n\u201cShe manipulated him. Dad gave her money for years. After she died, he became obsessed with guilt. Whatever he wrote about her isn\u2019t reliable.\u201d
\n\u201cStop!\u201d Rebecca shouted through my phone.
\nThomas must have heard her.
\n\u201cSo she\u2019s talking to you.\u201d
\nI said nothing.
\nHis tone changed immediately.
\n\u201cEmily, you need to understand something about my sister. Rebecca has spent her entire life believing a story that isn\u2019t true.\u201d
\nRebecca whispered, \u201cAsk him where Sarah died.\u201d
\nI swallowed.
\n\u201cThomas\u2026 where did Sarah die?\u201d
\nSilence.
\nFor several seconds, there wasn\u2019t even movement outside the door.
\nThen Thomas said:
\n\u201cOpen the door.\u201d
\n\u201cAnswer me.\u201d
\n\u201cEmily.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere did she die?\u201d
\nRebecca whispered the answer before he could.
\n\u201cAt our house.\u201d
\nMy skin prickled.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cThe house you lived in with Dad.\u201d
\nI couldn\u2019t speak.
\nRebecca continued.
\n\u201cSarah died there in 1989. I was five.\u201d
\n\u201cBut Richard told me his first wife lived there.\u201d
\n\u201cShe did.\u201d
\nMy mind struggled to make sense of it.
\n\u201cThen why was Sarah there?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause Sarah worked for our family.\u201d
\nThomas suddenly struck the door again.
\n\u201cRebecca, shut up!\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t.
\n\u201cSarah wasn\u2019t Dad\u2019s mistress. She was our housekeeper.\u201d
\nI stared into the darkness.
\nThe woman in the photograph.
\nThe baby in her arms.
\nRebecca.
\n\u201cBut you said she was your mother.\u201d
\n\u201cShe was.\u201d
\nMy mouth went dry.
\n\u201cThen Richard\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cWasn\u2019t my biological father.\u201d
\nEverything inside me seemed to stop.
\nThomas shouted through the door.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s enough!\u201d
\nBut Rebecca kept talking.
\n\u201cRichard adopted me after Sarah died. His wife agreed to raise me as their daughter. Dad made everyone promise never to tell me where I came from.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s the question he never answered.\u201d
\nI looked toward the cabinet.
\nThen at the brown envelope in my hand.
\nFOR EMILY \u2014 ONLY AFTER SHE KNOWS ABOUT SARAH.
\n\u201cRebecca\u2026 when did you find out?\u201d
\n\u201cWhen I was twenty-one. I found my original birth certificate.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd Richard?\u201d
\n\u201cHe begged me to let it go.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cHe said the truth would destroy our family.\u201d
\nThomas kicked the door hard enough to shake the frame.
\n\u201cEmily! Open this door now!\u201d
\nI backed farther away.
\nThen I saw another exit.
\nA narrow window near the back wall.
\nToo small to climb through easily, but large enough if I forced it.
\n\u201cRebecca, I\u2019m leaving.\u201d
\n\u201cTake everything you can.\u201d
\nI stuffed the brown envelope into my bag and pushed the window open.
\nIt led beneath the deck.
\nI squeezed through, scraping my arm against the frame.
\nBehind me, the storage-room door crashed open.
\nI crawled through the dirt and dead leaves beneath the cabin.
\n\u201cEmily!\u201d
\nThomas\u2019s voice echoed from inside.
\nI kept moving.
\nWhen I reached the edge of the deck, I crawled out and ran toward my car.
\nThomas appeared around the corner.
\n\u201cStop!\u201d
\nI locked myself inside and started the engine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He stood directly in front of the car.
\n\u201cEmily, listen to me.\u201d
\n\u201cMove.\u201d
\n\u201cYou don\u2019t understand what Richard was protecting you from.\u201d
\n\u201cProtecting me?\u201d
\nThomas stared at my handbag.
\nThen he said something I didn\u2019t expect.
\n\u201cCheck the dates.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cThe letters. Check when Sarah wrote them.\u201d
\nI glanced at the bag.
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause Dad didn\u2019t meet Sarah in the eighties.\u201d
\nMy hands tightened around the steering wheel.
\nThomas stepped closer.
\n\u201cHe knew her long before that.\u201d
\n\u201cHow long?\u201d
\nThomas looked almost defeated.
\n\u201cBefore any of us were born.\u201d
\nI remembered Richard\u2019s letter.
\nForty-three years ago, when I was a young man with nothing, someone did for me what I tried to do for you.
\nShe gave me a chance when I didn\u2019t deserve one.
\nSarah.
\n\u201cShe was the woman who helped him,\u201d I whispered.
\nThomas nodded.
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cThen why hide her?\u201d
\nHe looked toward the cabin.
\n\u201cBecause Sarah didn\u2019t just help Dad become rich.\u201d
\nHis eyes returned to mine.
\n\u201cShe was the reason he became rich.\u201d
\nBefore I could ask another question, Rebecca\u2019s voice came through my phone.
\n\u201cEmily, don\u2019t listen to him. Drive.\u201d
\nThomas moved aside.
\nI hit the accelerator.
\nI didn\u2019t stop until the cabin disappeared behind the trees.
\nTwenty minutes later, I pulled into a brightly lit gas station.
\nMy hands were still shaking.
\nI parked beneath the lights and opened my handbag.
\nThe blue-ribbon letters were there.
\nSo was Richard\u2019s letter.
\nThe photograph.
\nAnd the brown envelope.
\nI wanted to open everything.
\nBut Thomas\u2019s words wouldn\u2019t leave my mind.
\nCheck the dates.
\nI untied the blue ribbon.
\nThere were fourteen letters.
\nThe oldest was dated June 1978.
\nRichard would have been thirty.
\nI opened it.
\n\u201cDear Richard,
\nI sold the last thing my mother left me today.
\nThe money should be enough for you to keep the company alive another month.
\nPlease don\u2019t waste this chance.
\nYou keep saying you\u2019ll repay me someday.
\nI don\u2019t want repayment.
\nI want you to become the man you keep promising you can be.
\n\u2014 Sarah\u201d
\nI stared at the page.
\nRichard hadn\u2019t built his fortune alone.
\nSarah had financed him when he had nothing.
\nI opened another letter.
\nThen another.
\nEach one told the same story.
\nSarah sold jewelry.
\nBorrowed money.
\nWorked extra jobs.
\nShe believed in Richard before anyone else did.
\nAnd slowly, his company grew.
\nBut then the tone of the letters changed.
\nBy 1983, Sarah sounded frightened.
\n\u201cRichard,
\nI know what Margaret thinks of me.
\nI know what your business partners will say if they discover how much of the original money came from a woman who cleaned offices at night.
\nBut I don\u2019t want the company.
\nI don\u2019t want your house.
\nI only want one promise.
\nIf anything happens to me, protect my daughter.\u201d
\nRebecca.
\nMy eyes filled with tears.
\nThen I reached the final letter.
\nDated October 1989.
\nThree days before Sarah died.
\nThe handwriting was uneven.
\n\u201cRichard,
\nI can\u2019t keep pretending anymore.
\nRebecca deserves the truth.
\nYou promised me years ago that when she was old enough, you would tell her who her father is.
\nIf you refuse, I will tell her myself.
\nAnd if Margaret finds out before I can explain everything, I\u2019m afraid of what she might do.\u201d
\nI stopped breathing.
\nMargaret.
\nRichard\u2019s first wife.
\nI read the sentence again.
\nI\u2019m afraid of what she might do.
\nMy phone rang.
\nThis time it was the lawyer.
\n\u201cEmily?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere are you?\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\nHe hesitated.
\n\u201cRichard instructed me to call you tonight if you opened the box.\u201d
\nI stared at the brown envelope.
\n\u201cHow would you know?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause you were supposed to find something at the cabin.\u201d
\nMy heart hammered.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cA letter.\u201d
\nI looked down.
\n\u201cI found several.\u201d
\n\u201cNo. One specifically addressed to you.\u201d
\nThe brown envelope.
\n\u201cWhat does it say?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Richard sealed it himself.\u201d
\nI slowly tore it open.
\nInside was a single page.
\nAnd a smaller sealed envelope.
\nThe page began:
\n\u201cEmily,
\nIf you\u2019re reading this, then you know about Sarah.
\nWhat you don\u2019t know is why I chose you.\u201d
\nI felt a chill move through me.
\nWhy I chose you.
\nNot why I loved you.
\nWhy I chose you.
\nI kept reading.
\n\u201cYou believed we met by accident at that charity dinner.
\nWe didn\u2019t.
\nI knew exactly who you were before I asked your name.\u201d
\nMy hands began trembling so badly that the paper rattled.
\nThe lawyer was still speaking.
\n\u201cEmily? Are you there?\u201d
\nI couldn\u2019t answer.
\nI read the next sentence.
\n\u201cI had been looking for you for almost three years.\u201d
\nMy stomach dropped.
\nThere was one final line.
\n\u201cBefore you read the enclosed letter, look at the name of Sarah\u2019s daughter on her original birth certificate\u2014not the name she was given after I adopted her.\u201d
\nI reached inside the brown envelope.
\nThere was a photocopy of an old birth certificate.
\nI unfolded it.
\nMother:
\nSARAH ELIZABETH MILLER.
\nFather:
\nUNKNOWN.
\nChild:
\nREBECCA ANNE MILLER.
\nBut another document was clipped behind it.
\nA family-tree record Richard had apparently commissioned years earlier.
\nI followed the line beneath Sarah\u2019s name.
\nSarah had one older brother.
\nA man named Daniel Miller.
\nDaniel had one daughter.
\nThat daughter had one child.
\nI stared at the final name.
\nMy name.
\nEMILY CARTER.
\nThe gas station seemed to disappear around me.
\nSarah hadn\u2019t been a stranger.
\nShe was my great-aunt.
\nAnd Rebecca wasn\u2019t merely Richard\u2019s adopted daughter.
\nShe was my mother\u2019s first cousin.
\nI put my hand over my mouth.
\nRichard had known.
\nBefore he ever spoke to me.
\nBefore our first dinner.
\nBefore his proposal.
\nHe knew exactly who I was.
\nThen I remembered something he\u2019d said on our wedding night.
\nSomething I had assumed was just an old man\u2019s strange sentimentality.
\n\u201cSome debts take a lifetime to repay.\u201d
\nI picked up the smaller sealed envelope.
\nAcross the front, Richard had written:
\nTHE REAL REASON I MARRIED YOU.
\nAnd beneath it, in smaller handwriting:
\n\u201cEmily, after you read this, you may never forgive me.\u201d\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026..<\/p>\n
The headlights swept across the cabin windows. I froze with the photograph still in my hand. \u201cRebecca,\u201d I whispered into the phone. \u201cIs that you?\u201d \u201cNo.\u201d Her answer came so … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8015,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8354","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8354","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8354"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8354\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8374,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8354\/revisions\/8374"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8015"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8354"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8354"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8354"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}