Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

I stared at the photograph until my eyes hurt.

My mother.

Alive.

Smiling.

Standing beside my father.

The date written on the back made my blood run cold.

Five years after everyone told me she was dead.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered.

Clara slowly took the picture from my hand.

“She wanted you to find this.”

I shook my head.

“No. My father spent years believing she was gone.”

Clara looked at me carefully.

“Are you sure about that?”

Her question bothered me.

Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure about anything.

My father had always been quiet about my mother.

Too quiet.

Whenever I asked questions, he changed the subject.

Whenever I mentioned her name, pain crossed his face.

I always thought it was grief.

But what if it was guilt?

“What are you saying, Clara?”

She sighed.

“I’m saying your father may have known more than you think.”

I stepped away.

“No. My father loved my mother.”

“Yes.”

Clara nodded.

“But love doesn’t mean someone cannot be manipulated.”

Before I could answer, the door behind us opened.

A man in a dark suit walked inside.

“Mr. Blackwood.”

I recognized him immediately.

Daniel Reeves.

My father’s old attorney.

“What are you doing here?”

Daniel looked uncomfortable.

“I was told to find you if you ever opened that box.”

My heart stopped.

“Who told you?”

He looked at Clara.

Then back at me.

“Your mother.”

Silence.

Clara covered her mouth.

“She contacted you?”

Daniel nodded.

“Twenty-five years ago.”

I stepped closer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes filled with regret.

“Because Arthur threatened my family.”

The anger inside me exploded.

“Everyone was afraid of him?”

Daniel lowered his head.

“He had power. Money. Connections.”

He placed a folder on the table.

“This is everything I saved.”

I opened it.

Inside were medical records.

Hospital reports.

And one name appeared again and again.

Arthur Whitmore.

“He paid the doctors,” Daniel said.

“He created the entire story that your mother was unstable.”

My hands tightened around the papers.

“Where is my mother now?”

Daniel looked at Clara.

Then answered quietly.

“She survived.”

My heart jumped.

“Where?”

Daniel hesitated.

“She disappeared after escaping.”

“Why?”

“Because she found out Arthur was looking for her.”

I looked at the photograph again.

My mother wasn’t dead.

She was hiding.

For thirty years.

Then Daniel said something that changed everything.

“She didn’t leave alone.”

I looked up.

“What do you mean?”

Daniel’s face turned pale.

“She had someone helping her.”

“Who?”

He slowly answered:

“Your father.”

The room went silent.

My entire understanding of my family shattered.

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