Chapter 3 - The Photograph Behind the Wall
Rebecca's bedroom had remained untouched since the day she died.
Adrian had ordered the staff to preserve everything exactly as she had left it. Her books remained on the bedside table. Her perfume bottles stood beside the mirror. A pale blue cashmere sweater hung over the back of a chair.
Even the small vase of dried white roses remained on the dresser.
Claire followed Adrian upstairs.
Two security men stood outside the bedroom.
One held a small evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Claire recognized Rebecca immediately.
The woman stood in the garden, wearing a white dress and holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
But something was wrong.
Rebecca was smiling at the camera.
And standing beside her was a man Claire had never seen before.
He was tall, silver-haired, and dressed in an expensive charcoal suit.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
She wasn't supposed to die.
Adrian took the evidence bag.
"Where did you find it?"
"Behind the mirror, sir."
Adrian looked toward the large antique mirror.
"Remove it."
The security guard carefully lifted it away from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow opening.
Inside sat a small metal box.
Adrian's face became dangerously still.
He recognized it.
Claire could tell.
"What's inside?" she asked.
"Something that should have stayed hidden."
He opened the box.
There were three items.
A silver USB drive.
A folded letter.
And a small hospital bracelet.
Claire leaned forward.
The bracelet carried Rebecca's name.
But the date was strange.
It was dated six years earlier.
The same year Lily was born.
Adrian unfolded the letter.
He read the first line.
Then his hand tightened around the paper.
"Adrian," Claire whispered.
He didn't answer.
She noticed the letter was addressed to him.
My darling, if you're reading this, someone has finally discovered what happened at St. Catherine's.
Adrian stopped reading.
His eyes moved to the next paragraph.
Lily is not the only child whose life was changed that night.
Claire felt a chill.
"What does that mean?"
Adrian folded the letter.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
"With respect, sir, someone threatened your daughter, broke into your dead wife's bedroom, and left a letter suggesting something happened at a hospital."
He looked at her.
"You ask a lot of questions."
"I take care of a six-year-old. Questions are part of the job."
For the first time, the corner of Adrian's mouth moved.
Then the expression disappeared.
He turned to his security chief.
"Find out who the man in this photograph is. And get me every record connected to St. Catherine's Hospital from the year Lily was born."
"Yes, sir."
That afternoon, Claire found Lily sitting beneath the grand staircase.
The little girl had a coloring book open in her lap.
She wasn't coloring.
She was staring at a drawing of three people holding hands.
"That's beautiful," Claire said.
Lily quickly covered it.
"It's not finished."
"That's okay. The best pictures take time."
Lily hesitated.
Then she whispered, "Mommy used to draw people like that."
Claire sat beside her.
"Did she?"
"She said families were supposed to hold hands when things got scary."
Claire smiled gently.
"That sounds like something a wonderful mother would say."
Lily looked toward the upstairs hallway.
"Do you think Mommy knew she was going to die?"
Claire's heart tightened.
"I don't know, sweetheart."
"Because she told me something before she went to the hospital."
"What did she tell you?"
Lily lowered her voice.
"She said if Daddy ever got angry about the little blue bird, I should find the lady who sings the winter song."
Claire froze.
The winter song.
The lullaby she had learned from Rebecca's recording.
"Did she tell you anything else?"
Lily nodded.
"She said the bird was hiding."
"Where?"
Lily pointed toward the upstairs hallway.
"In Daddy's room."
That evening, Claire went to Adrian's office.
He was standing by the window, speaking to someone on the phone.
She waited until he finished.
"Your daughter told me something."
Adrian turned.
"What?"
Claire repeated Lily's words.
For several seconds, he looked genuinely shaken.
Then he crossed the room and opened a locked drawer.
Inside was a small blue porcelain bird.
Its wing was chipped.
Claire recognized it immediately from the photograph.
"Rebecca gave this to me when we got married," Adrian said.
"She said it was lucky."
He turned it over.
A small metal plate had been fitted beneath the base.
Adrian pressed it.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a tiny key.
Claire looked at him.
"Do you know what it opens?"
"No."
He examined it.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
His expression darkened.
Claire saw only one sentence before he turned the screen away.
Your wife didn't die from the illness. Ask your brother.
"Your brother?" Claire whispered.
Adrian's eyes lifted.
"Stay away from my family, Ms. Bennett."
"But—"
"That is an order."
He moved toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
"And Claire?"
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"If Lily tells you anything else about Rebecca, you come directly to me."
He left.
Claire remained alone in the office.
Her eyes returned to the porcelain bird.
Something about the tiny key bothered her.
She remembered the old recording.
Rebecca's voice.
The winter lullaby.
And a faint metallic sound at the end of the recording.
A sound she had never understood.
Until now.
May you like
It sounded like a key turning in a lock.
And somewhere in the mansion, behind a door nobody had opened in a year, the truth was waiting.
