Chapter 7 - THE CHILD BEFORE ME
The name on the hospital record belonged to a baby girl.
Emily Rose Carter.
Born three years before me.
Mother:
Brenda Carter.
Father:
Blank.
I looked at Patrick.
“Who is Emily?”
He didn't answer.
Mrs. Harper looked away.
Chloe whispered,
“Mom had another child?”
Patrick slowly shook his head.
“I never knew.”
I read the record again.
There was no father listed.
No address.
No explanation.
Just a birth date.
Then a discharge note.
Released to maternal family member.
I looked at Mrs. Harper.
“Who was the maternal family member?”
She took a breath.
“Your grandmother.”
I felt cold.
“Grandma raised another child?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“Not exactly.”
Patrick stood.
“Where is she?”
Mrs. Harper looked at him.
“She died.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Two days after birth.”
The room went silent.
Chloe covered her mouth.
“What happened?”
Mrs. Harper shook her head.
“She was premature.”
I stared at the record.
“Then why hide her?”
“Because your mother was seventeen.”
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly the family history looked different.
Mom had been seventeen.
Scared.
Pregnant.
A baby had died.
Then years later she met Patrick.
Then Chloe and I were born.
Fear had been there before any of us.
But it didn't explain everything.
I pointed to the hospital record.
“Why did Grandma keep this?”
Mrs. Harper said,
“Because Evelyn believed Brenda never recovered from losing that baby.”
Patrick sat down.
“So when she became pregnant again…”
“She became terrified,” Mrs. Harper finished.
“Terrified of losing another child.”
I looked at Chloe.
Mom's behavior suddenly had another layer.
She had not simply feared Patrick taking us.
She had already experienced the loss of a child.
But grief didn't explain the lies.
Then Mrs. Harper handed me another envelope.
“This one is from Patrick.”
I looked at him.
He frowned.
“I didn't write it.”
“You did.”
She placed it in my hand.
The handwriting was unmistakably his.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter dated twenty-five years earlier.
Brenda,
I know you are afraid. I am afraid too.
But Alyssa deserves to know that her father loves her.
If you need time, I will give you time.
If you need help, I will help.
But please don't make her believe I left.
I looked at Patrick.
“You wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mom receive it?”
“I don't know.”
Mrs. Harper shook her head.
“She did.”
“How?”
“She brought it here.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“She wanted me to convince Patrick to stop contacting her.”
I looked at Patrick.
He seemed ashamed.
“I didn't stop.”
“No,” Mrs. Harper said.
“You didn't.”
She opened a small notebook.
“Every time he came, I wrote down the date.”
Pages of visits.
Years.
Even 2010.
Patrick had kept trying.
He had not been perfect.
He had missed some dates.
He had made mistakes.
But he had never disappeared.
Then I saw something.
A note from 2006.
Patrick offered to pay for Chloe's college fund. Brenda refused.
Another from 2008.
Patrick asked whether Alyssa had graduated. Brenda said she had moved away.
I stared.
“I never moved.”
“I know,” Patrick said.
“Why would she say that?”
He didn't answer.
Then Chloe remembered something.
“Wait.”
She pulled out her phone.
“I have an old email.”
“What email?”
“One Mom sent me after Grandma died.”
She searched.
Then froze.
“Found it.”
She read aloud.
Your father may contact you now that Evelyn is gone. Please remember why he left.
I took the phone.
The email had been sent three days after Grandma's funeral.
I looked at the date.
Then at Patrick.
“She was afraid you'd come back after Grandma died.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked exhausted.
“Because Evelyn was the only person who knew where I was.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She kept my address from your mother.”
I stared at him.
“She knew where you lived?”
“Yes.”
“And she knew you were trying to see us?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't she tell us?”
Patrick looked at the floor.
“Because she believed telling you would make your mother take you away.”
It was a terrible choice.
But I understood the fear.
Then Chloe asked the question neither of us wanted to ask.
“What happened to the money?”
Patrick looked at her.
“The money?”
“The money Mom took.”
He sighed.
“Some went toward the house.”
“Some?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
I remembered the bank statements.
There were missing years.
Large gaps.
I suddenly realized something.
“Mom didn't just spend the money.”
Patrick looked at me.
“She moved it.”
“Where?”
I remembered Grandma's letter.
Look beneath the false bottom.
There had been another envelope.
I had ignored it.
I searched my memory.
The red suitcase.
The metal box.
The bank statements.
Then the child’s drawing.
I looked at the back.
A tiny pencil mark.
A number.
317.
Chloe frowned.
“What is that?”
Patrick looked at it.
“Locker number.”
“Where?”
He stared at me.
“Phoenix bus station.”
I felt a chill.
“Why would Grandma hide money there?”
Patrick shook his head.
“She wouldn't.”
“Then what?”
He looked at the child’s drawing again.
“A message.”
We drove to the old bus station.
Locker 317 still existed.
The facility manager required identification.
Inside was a small wooden box.
No money.
No documents.
Only three objects.
A rosary.
A man's watch.
And a necklace.
I recognized the necklace immediately.
Grandma's.
The same necklace Mom had supposedly pawned twenty-six years ago.
But it was still there.
And attached to it was a tag.
Not mine. Never was.
Chloe turned pale.
“Then Mom never pawned it.”
Patrick picked up the watch.
His hands started shaking.
“This is mine.”
“What?”
“I lost this the night I was arrested.”
He turned it over.
Engraved on the back were four words.
FOR THE MAN WHO STAYED.
I looked at the rosary.
A folded photograph was tucked inside.
I opened it.
Mom.
Young.
Holding a baby.
Not me.
Not Chloe.
Emily.
But standing beside her was a man I had never seen before.
I turned the photograph over.
There was one sentence.
Brenda did not tell Patrick who the father was.
Chloe stared at the photograph.
“Then who was he?”
I looked at the unfamiliar man.
And on the back of his jacket was a small company logo.
I knew that logo.
It belonged to the construction company that had owned the land where our childhood home was built.
May you like
Patrick whispered,
“That company belonged to your grandfather.”
