Daniel stared at the photograph for so long that I wondered whether he had stopped breathing.
“That house,” he said.
“Yes.”
“My parents' house.”
“I know.”
He turned the picture over again.
“He came that night.”
Lucas looked at him.
“Who?”
Daniel didn't answer.
I pointed to the words.
“You're the one who should know.”
“I don't.”
“You recognize the house.”
“Yes.”
“Then think.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“My father had business partners.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“There was a man who used to visit.”
“Who?”
“I don't remember his name.”
“You don't remember?”
“I was seventeen.”
“And?”
“And I didn't care who my father met.”
I looked at the photograph.
Teagan was standing beside the driveway.
She wasn't smiling.
She appeared to be looking toward the house.
The image had been taken from a distance.
Whoever took it had been watching her.
Lucas noticed something.
“There's a car.”
He pointed toward the background.
A dark sedan was parked beside the garage.
Daniel leaned closer.
“I recognize that.”
“Whose?”
“My father's.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He took out his phone.
“I have an old photograph.”
He searched through his files.
Then he showed us a picture of his parents standing beside the same car.
The license plate matched.
My stomach tightened.
“Who took this photograph?”
“I don't know.”
“Could Teagan have?”
Daniel shook his head.
“She didn't own a camera like this.”
“Maybe someone gave it to her.”
“That would explain why she kept it.”
Lucas stared at the picture.
“Why was she at their house?”
Daniel looked at me.
“She never told me.”
We went back to his apartment.
Daniel searched through an old box he had kept since he was seventeen.
There were school papers, baseball cards, photographs, and a few letters from Teagan.
I watched his hands shake as he sorted through them.
Then he found something.
A receipt.
“What's that?”
He turned it over.
“It's from a storage company.”
The date was the same week as the photograph.
“Why would Teagan have a storage unit?”
“I don't know.”
The receipt listed a unit number.
Daniel looked at me.
“Maybe that's where she kept something.”
We drove there before sunset.
The storage facility manager was reluctant to help.
But after I explained that Teagan had died ten years earlier and that I had inherited her belongings, he checked the records.
There had been a unit rented under a different name.
Not Teagan.
The name was Sarah Miller.
I looked at Daniel.
“Who is Sarah Miller?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
The manager opened the unit.
Inside were boxes.
Not many.
Three large ones and a small plastic container.
Dust covered everything.
Lucas stood beside me.
“This is creepy.”
I agreed.
The first box contained baby clothes.
The second contained medical paperwork.
The third contained photographs.
The plastic container held a phone.
An old phone.
I picked it up.
The screen was cracked.
Daniel stared at it.
“I remember that.”
“Whose?”
“Teagan's.”
“Why was it here?”
“I thought it had been lost.”
The phone was dead.
We took it back to the apartment.
Daniel found a charger.
It took several attempts before the screen came alive.
There were hundreds of old messages.
Most were ordinary.
Friends.
School.
Family.
Then we found a conversation between Teagan and an unknown number.
The first message was dated two weeks before her death.
You need to stop asking questions.
Teagan had replied:
I have the right to know.
The unknown number answered:
Not if knowing puts the baby in danger.
Lucas moved closer.
“What does that mean?”
I couldn't answer.
Daniel continued scrolling.
Teagan had asked:
Who are you?
The response was:
Someone trying to keep you from making a terrible mistake.
Then Teagan wrote:
I know what your family is planning.
The next message was:
You don't know anything.
There were several missing messages.
Deleted.
Then one remained.
If anything happens to me, my mother will find out.
The unknown number replied:
She won't be able to protect you.
I felt a chill.
“Who was this?” Lucas asked.
Daniel shook his head.
“I don't know.”
We kept searching.
Then we found a saved contact.
No name.
Just a number.
I copied it into my phone.
Daniel looked at it.
“That number is familiar.”
“From where?”
“My father's office.”
I stared at him.
“Are you saying someone connected to your father was messaging Teagan?”
“I don't know.”
“You said your father had a visitor.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Daniel sat down.
“There was a man named Victor.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“What did he do?”
“He handled financial matters for my father.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he care about Teagan?”
“I don't know.”
Lucas looked at the phone.
“Maybe he cared about the baby.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because Mom thought someone wanted me.”
Nobody spoke.
Then the phone vibrated.
We all jumped.
A new message had appeared.
The number was still active.
Daniel looked at me.
“That can't be possible.”
“Why?”
“Because that number belonged to Victor.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
The message contained only four words.
Stop looking for answers.
Lucas stood.
“Who sent it?”
Daniel stared at the screen.
“I don't know.”
I took the phone.
Another message arrived.
You promised Teagan you would leave this alone.
My hands went cold.
“I never promised that,” Daniel whispered.
I looked at him.
“Who did?”
He didn't answer.
The next message appeared.
Then came the one that changed everything.
You were not the father she was afraid of.
Lucas stared at the screen.
Daniel's face lost all color.
I read the message again.
Then another arrived.
Ask Margaret what Teagan told her the night before she went into labor.
I looked at Daniel.
“I don't remember anything unusual.”
But the moment I said it, a memory surfaced.
Teagan had stood in our kitchen the night before the hospital.
She had been pale.
She had held a glass of water with both hands.
I had asked whether she needed me to take her to the hospital.
She had said no.
Then she had looked directly at me.
“Mom, if something happens, promise me you won't let anyone tell you who I was.”
At the time, I had thought she meant she didn't want people judging her for being eighteen and pregnant.
Now I understood those words differently.
She hadn't been talking about judgment.
She had been warning me that someone might try to rewrite the story after she was gone.
I looked at Lucas.
Then at Daniel.
Then back at the phone.
A final message appeared.
Your daughter knew the baby was not safe.
The phone went dark.
And for the first time in ten years, I wondered whether Teagan's death had ended the danger—or merely left it behind for her son.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Warning on Teagan’s Phone Pointed Toward a Man I Had Never Met, While Lucas Began Asking Questions I Could No Longer Avoid
The Baby Survived, But the Doctor’s First Words Left Me Realizing My Daughter Was Never Coming Home
Part 8 of 20
