Victor disappeared before we could reach him.
By the time we got outside, only a bus pulling away remained.
Daniel stood on the pavement, staring after it.
“He knew we'd find the locker.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Ian looked toward the station doors.
“Then somebody told him.”
I held the letter against my chest.
“My mother knew this could happen.”
Daniel looked at me.
“She also knew our father.”
I nodded.
“Do you want to know?”
His eyes hardened.
“I've spent twenty-nine years not knowing.”
We went back to Daniel's house.
He placed the letter on the table.
There was a name missing.
The page containing it had been torn away.
Only a partial sentence remained.
Your father is—
Nothing after it.
Daniel slammed his hand against the table.
“Again.”
I flinched.
“Another missing page.”
Ian picked up the envelope.
“Maybe there is something else.”
He examined the seal.
Then he noticed a faint mark.
A jeweler's stamp.
“Evelyn.”
We returned to the shop.
She took one look at the letter and sat down.
“You found it.”
“You knew about this?”
“I knew there was a letter.”
“Did you know what it said?”
“No.”
“Who is Daniel's father?”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“Your mother never told me his name.”
“That's not possible.”
“She told me the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
Evelyn looked at Daniel.
“Your mother loved someone before Victor.”
Daniel's expression changed.
“Who?”
“I don't know his name.”
“Then what do you know?”
“That Victor believed your father had died.”
“Did he?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“No.”
Daniel stared at her.
“You're saying he's alive?”
“I believe so.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I stepped closer.
“What did my mother write?”
Evelyn opened a cabinet.
She removed an old ledger.
“There was one name she mentioned.”
She turned the page.
A surname.
Morris.
Daniel repeated it.
“Morris.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
Ian did.
His expression changed.
“I know that name.”
I turned.
“How?”
“My father's old business records.”
“Why would your family know him?”
“Because he was an attorney.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Thomas Morris.”
Daniel stood.
“Where is he?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“He died years ago.”
My heart sank.
“But he had a son.”
Ian said it quietly.
“Ethan Morris.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You know him?”
“My father did.”
“Where is he?”
Ian hesitated.
“Boston.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Then we're going to Boston.”
I wanted to say we couldn't simply fly across the country chasing a dead man's records.
Then I remembered my mother's letter.
His father knows where you are.
Someone knew.
Someone had followed us.
Someone had entered the story again.
“We go,” I said.
Ian nodded.
Before we left, Evelyn stopped us.
“You should know something.”
I turned.
“Victor didn't just want the property.”
“What else?”
“He wanted the documents proving your mother had transferred ownership before Daniel was born.”
“Why?”
“Because those documents proved he had no legal claim.”
I understood.
“The missing page.”
“Yes.”
“If we find it, we can prove everything.”
Evelyn nodded.
“And if Victor finds it first?”
She didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
We flew the next morning.
On the plane, Daniel barely spoke.
He held the photograph of our mother.
I watched him trace his thumb over her face.
“I don't remember her voice anymore,” he said.
I looked at him.
“I do.”
He smiled faintly.
“Tell me.”
“She sang terribly.”
He laughed.
“You remember that too?”
“She used to sing while cooking.”
“She did.”
We sat in silence.
For the first time, our memories overlapped.
Not enough.
But something.
In Boston, Ethan Morris met us in a small office near the harbor.
He was in his late fifties.
Gray hair.
Thin glasses.
When he saw Daniel, his expression froze.
“You're Margaret's son.”
Daniel nodded.
Ethan looked at me.
“And you're Sharon.”
“Yes.”
He sat down.
“I wondered when this day would come.”
I was beginning to hate that sentence.
“Everyone knew.”
“Not everyone.”
“But enough people.”
He looked ashamed.
“Your mother asked my father to help her.”
“With what?”
“Protection.”
“From Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ethan opened a file.
“Because Victor discovered Daniel wasn't his son.”
Daniel's jaw tightened.
“Who was?”
Ethan looked directly at him.
“Your father was a man named Michael Morris.”
Daniel stared.
“Your father's name?”
Ethan nodded.
“My brother.”
The room went silent.
I felt Daniel's hand tremble.
“He died?”
“No.”
Daniel's eyes widened.
Ethan took a breath.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“Shortly after you were born.”
“Why?”
“We believe Victor forced him to leave.”
“Believe?”
Ethan's voice lowered.
“My father found evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“That Victor had forged documents to claim control over your mother's property.”
“And Michael?”
“He tried to expose him.”
“What happened?”
“He vanished.”
Daniel looked sick.
I reached for his hand.
Ethan continued.
“Your mother believed Michael was alive for years.”
“Did she find him?”
“No.”
I thought about the letters.
The locket.
The missing page.
“Then why did she say his father knew where we were?”
Ethan frowned.
“She didn't mean Michael.”
“Who?”
He looked at Ian.
“Your husband.”
I turned.
Ian looked as shocked as I was.
“What?”
Ethan pointed to a line in the file.
“Your father left information with my family. He wanted someone he trusted to protect his children if anything happened to him.”
“Why Ian?”
“Because Ian's father was the attorney who handled the trust.”
My heart began pounding.
Suddenly the key, the jeweler, the trust, and Ian's involvement made sense.
But one question remained.
“Where is Michael now?”
Ethan shook his head.
“We don't know.”
Then his assistant entered the room holding an envelope.
“This was delivered for you.”
Ethan opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A man stood beside a lake.
Older.
Gray-haired.
But unmistakably the same face as the younger man in my mother's photograph.
Michael.
On the back was a handwritten message.
Stop looking.
Ethan looked at us.
“He's alive.”
Daniel stood.
“Where?”
The assistant placed another paper on the table.
An address.
A small town.
Three hours away.
We stared at it.
Then Ian's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a man's voice said:
“You found him.”
Ian's face changed.
The call ended.
Daniel grabbed his jacket.
“Let's go.”
This time, nobody tried to stop him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Road to My Father’s Hidden Address Exposed the Last Deception, and I Finally Understood Why Ian Had Been Told to Wait
The Morning After Saying “I Do,” One Tiny Object Turned My Husband’s Perfect Tuxedo Into Something I Suddenly Feared
Part 7 of 10
