Chapter 4 - THE NAME ON THE SCHOOL FORM
We stayed silent for almost a minute.
Then I took Camilla's phone.
“Call the number.”
She shook her head.
“I already did.”
“What happened?”
“No answer.”
I looked again at the photograph.
Emilia was sitting beside a glass of orange juice.
There was a blue cup on the table.
A small stuffed rabbit beside her.
She looked calm.
That mattered.
“She isn't being hurt.”
Camilla nodded.
“I know.”
“But she's being hidden.”
“Yes.”
I handed the phone back.
“Then we find her.”
Camilla looked at me.
“You don't even know her.”
I looked at the photograph.
“I've known about her for ten minutes.”
Then I touched the screen.
“But she's my daughter.”
Camilla's eyes filled.
For the first time since I'd arrived, she allowed herself to cry.
I didn't know what to say.
So I sat beside her.
After a while, she whispered, “I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not telling you sooner.”
“You tried.”
“I should have tried harder.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You shouldn't have had to fight my family alone.”
That sentence seemed to reach somewhere inside her.
She nodded.
Then I remembered the receipt.
“Why did Charlotte pay for Emilia's school?”
Camilla looked at it.
“I don't know.”
“We're going to find out.”
I drove back to my mother's house.
Charlotte was waiting in the living room.
She stood when I entered.
“Where were you?”
“With Camilla.”
Her face changed.
“What did she tell you?”
“That I have a daughter.”
Charlotte closed her eyes.
I watched her carefully.
“How much did you know?”
“I knew there was a possibility.”
“You paid for Emilia's school.”
She looked at me.
“I can explain.”
“Please do.”
Charlotte sat down.
“I found out about the pregnancy from your mother.”
“And?”
“I was angry.”
“At Camilla?”
“At the situation.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I had already planned our wedding. I loved you. I thought we were finally building something together.”
“You paid for a school.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to help.”
“Without telling me?”
“I thought you would refuse.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you'd feel obligated.”
I stared at her.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does to me.”
She stood.
“I found the school after your mother told me Emilia existed.”
“And why did you ask Camilla where Emilia studied?”
Charlotte hesitated.
“I wanted to see her.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know what she was like.”
“That still doesn't explain the secret.”
Charlotte's eyes filled.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if you met her, you'd love her.”
I stared.
“She is my daughter.”
“I know.”
“And you thought loving my child would threaten our marriage?”
Charlotte nodded.
I felt exhausted.
Then my mother walked into the room.
“Lucas.”
I turned.
“Did you know Charlotte paid for the school?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Emilia was still in Miami?”
“Yes.”
I stared at both women.
“How many decisions have you made about my life?”
Neither answered.
Then Laura entered through the back door.
She looked at me.
“I think there is something you need to see.”
She carried an old photograph.
She handed it to me.
It showed Camilla and me on our wedding day.
Patrick, my mother's late husband, stood behind us.
I remembered the photograph.
But Laura pointed to the corner.
“Look.”
There was a woman standing beside Patrick.
I recognized her.
Camilla's mother.
“What is she doing there?”
Laura lowered her voice.
“She spoke to Patrick that day.”
“About what?”
“About Emilia.”
I stared at her.
“Emilia wasn't born yet.”
“No.”
Laura nodded.
“But she knew Camilla was pregnant.”
I looked at my mother.
“Did Dad know?”
Mom began crying.
“Yes.”
That revelation hit differently.
My father had known.
The man I trusted most had known I might have a child.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“He wanted to,” Mom whispered.
“Then why didn't he?”
“He was sick.”
“He had two years.”
“I know.”
Laura looked down.
“Patrick argued with your mother.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“He told me you had the right to know.”
“And?”
“I refused.”
I stepped backward.
“What happened?”
“He said he would tell you himself.”
My heart pounded.
“But he died before he could.”
Silence filled the room.
I thought of the years after his funeral.
I had been grieving him.
Meanwhile, the truth had been sitting inside my own family.
Then Laura reached into her purse again.
She pulled out a small silver watch.
I recognized it immediately.
My father's watch.
“Where did you get that?”
“Patrick gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
“Why?”
Laura turned it over.
There was a tiny engraving on the back.
For Lucas — when you're finally ready.
My breath caught.
“What does that mean?”
Laura shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I took the watch.
It was stopped at 11:42.
The exact time my father had died.
I looked at my mother.
“What else did Dad leave?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
Then she whispered:
“His old office.”
We walked there together.
The room had barely changed.
His desk.
His books.
His old baseball cap.
The framed photograph of our family.
I opened the drawers.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a small wooden box behind the books.
The key was attached to the watch chain.
I unlocked it.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
And a second photograph.
The photograph showed my father standing outside a courthouse with Camilla's mother.
On the back, in my father's handwriting, were six words:
If Lucas returns, show him everything.
I unfolded the paper.
There was only one sentence.
The person who took Emilia knows the truth about her birth.
I looked at Laura.
“What does that mean?”
She stared at the photograph.
Then her face changed.
“I know that woman.”
“Camilla's mother?”
“No.”
She pointed to someone barely visible behind them.
A man standing beside a parked car.
“I've seen him before.”
“Who is he?”
Laura's voice dropped.
“He worked for your father.”
I looked closer.
Then I recognized him.
He was the same man who had stood outside Camilla's apartment.
My blood ran cold.
“He knows where Emilia is.”
May you like
Laura nodded.
“And I think he has been waiting for you to come back.”
