Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO NEVER CAME HOME
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The clock on my mantel ticked with unbearable precision. Outside, autumn rain tapped against the windows, and somewhere downstairs, a telephone rang before falling silent.
I stared at Clara.
"What does that mean?"
She glanced at Emma, who was busy examining the gold buttons on my waistcoat.
"Not here," Clara whispered.
"You're standing in my private quarters, telling me you've been keeping a secret from me. You're going to explain it here."
"Lucas, please. She's three."
"And I'm the man whose life you've apparently been rearranging behind his back."
Emma tugged at Clara's sleeve.
"Mommy, did I do something bad?"
Clara immediately knelt and smoothed her daughter's curls.
"No, sweetheart. You haven't done anything wrong."
"Then why is Mr. Grumpy mad?"
Despite everything, the question almost made me laugh.
"I'm not mad at you, Emma."
"Your eyebrows say different."
I closed my eyes briefly.
Emily used to say the same thing.
When I opened them, Clara was watching me with an expression that made my stomach turn. It wasn't merely fear. It was the exhausted sorrow of someone who had carried a terrible truth for far too long.
"Take Emma downstairs," I said. "Then come back alone."
Clara hesitated.
"Please don't ask anyone to leave the house."
The request stopped me.
"Why would I do that?"
She looked toward the hallway.
"Because there are people here who would do anything to keep you from learning what happened three years ago."
Before I could question her, she hurried away with Emma.
I stood motionless until their footsteps disappeared.
Then I crossed to the desk and opened the bottom drawer.
Inside lay a photograph of Emily Carter, the only picture I had never been able to put away.
She stood beside me on the terrace of my family's summer house, her dark-blonde hair flying in the wind. She was laughing at something I had said, her hazel eyes bright and unguarded.
We had planned to marry in June.
Instead, on the morning of our engagement party, Emily vanished.
Her apartment had been empty. Her phone was disconnected. Her car was discovered abandoned near a commuter station outside Boston.
Police investigated for weeks.
No body was found.
No ransom demand arrived.
No explanation ever emerged.
My father, Richard Whitmore, told me she had probably taken the money I'd given her and started a new life.
My sister, Victoria, said Emily had never belonged in our world.
And my closest friend, Daniel Mercer, advised me to stop searching before I destroyed myself.
I had listened to all three.
That was the mistake I had spent three years trying to forgive myself for.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
Clara entered alone, carrying a folded envelope.
She placed it on my desk without sitting down.
"Before you open this," she said, "you need to promise me something."
"I don't make promises without knowing what I'm agreeing to."
"Then promise you'll listen until the end."
I looked at the envelope.
My name was written across the front in Emily's unmistakable handwriting.
The room seemed to tilt.
"Where did you get this?"
Clara's lower lip trembled.
"Emily gave it to me the night she disappeared."
I reached for the envelope, but Clara kept her hand on it.
"She told me to give it to you if she couldn't come back before Emma's third birthday."
My fingers went numb.
"Emma?"
Clara nodded.
"Emily was pregnant when she disappeared."
I pulled my hand away as if the envelope had burned me.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No. Emily would have told me."
"She tried."
Clara finally released the letter.
I tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Lucas, if you're reading this, something has gone terribly wrong.
Please don't believe the first story anyone tells you about my disappearance. I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. I left because someone convinced me that staying would cost you your life.
There is something I need you to know about our daughter.
Her name was supposed to be Grace.
But if you're reading this, and a little girl named Emma has somehow found her way into your home, then I need you to look beneath the old clock in the east corridor.
You'll understand why I couldn't tell you everything.
I'm sorry for the years I've stolen from you.
I love you.
Emily.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
"Our daughter?" I whispered.
Clara nodded through her tears.
"Emily gave birth to a little girl. I was with her."
"Where is she?"
Clara looked toward the door.
"Emma is Emily's daughter."
I gripped the edge of my desk.
"Then why is her last name Bennett? Why have you pretended she's yours?"
"Because Emily asked me to protect her."
"From whom?"
Clara's answer came so quietly I nearly missed it.
"Your father."
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
My sister Victoria stood in the doorway, immaculate in a cream suit, her expression composed.
"Lucas, Daniel is downstairs. He says it's urgent."
Her eyes fell on the letter.
For the first time in my life, my sister looked genuinely frightened.
Then she stared at Clara.
"You should have stayed away from this family."
Clara stepped in front of me.
Victoria smiled without warmth.
"Whatever she's told you, Lucas, she's lying."
I held up Emily's letter.
"Then tell me why she wrote this."
Victoria's gaze flickered to the handwriting.
And in that instant, I realized my sister recognized it.
She backed away.
"Burn it," she whispered.
Then she turned and walked out.
I looked at Clara.
"What happened to Emily?"
Clara shook her head.
"I don't know where she is now."
"But you know she was alive when you last saw her."
Clara closed her eyes.
"Yes."
"How long ago?"
Her answer shattered the fragile hope beginning to form inside me.
May you like
"Three years ago, Lucas. The night before she disappeared, she told me someone had already decided how her story would end."
And downstairs, Daniel Mercer began shouting my name.
