Chapter 8: The Letter Hidden Away
I don’t know what hurt more.
The fact that someone had stolen my wife’s money.
Or the possibility that someone had used her name after she was gone.
I drove to Rebecca’s office with one thought repeating in my mind.
How?
Simone couldn’t have signed anything.
She was dead.
When I arrived, Rebecca already had documents spread across her desk.
She didn’t waste time.
“Sit down.””
I sat.
She pushed a folder toward me.
“The original insurance file was archived incorrectly.””
I opened it.
Inside were copies.
Old forms.
Medical records.
And a letter.
“What is this?””
Rebecca looked at me.
“Your wife wrote it.””
My hands froze.
“Before she died?””
“Yes.””
I couldn’t breathe.
“Why have I never seen it?””
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.””
I opened the letter.
The handwriting was unmistakably Simone’s.
My eyes filled before I even read the first line.
Dominic,
If you’re reading this, something happened that stopped me from telling you myself.
I had to stop.
I pressed my fingers against my mouth.
Rebecca looked away, giving me privacy.
I continued.
I need you to know something about Nia. She is stronger than people realize, but she is also sensitive. She feels everything. She notices every silence.
I swallowed.
That was my daughter.
Exactly.
The girl who noticed every time I left.
Every time I missed something.
The letter continued.
Please promise me she will never feel like she has to earn love.
I closed my eyes.
Because that was exactly what had happened.
She had spent years trying to earn a place in a family where she already belonged.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
There was one thing that made me nervous before I left.
Someone close to us has been asking questions about my insurance and my plans for Nia.
I looked up.
Rebecca.
“Someone?””
She nodded.
“Keep reading.””
I did.
I don’t want to accuse anyone without proof. But if something happens, please look at the paperwork carefully. Nia’s future depends on it.
My hands shook.
Simone knew.
Somehow, she knew.
“Who knew about this letter?””
Rebecca checked her notes.
“It was supposed to be delivered to you by the attorney who handled Simone’s estate.””
“Supposed to?””
She nodded.
“The attorney retired shortly afterward. The file disappeared.””
I stared.
“How does a file disappear?””
Rebecca didn’t answer.
Because we both knew.
When I returned home, I found Nia in the backyard.
She was sitting under the old oak tree.
The same tree where Simone used to read to her.
I sat beside her.
“Dad?””
“I found something.””
Her face changed.
“What?””
I handed her the letter.
She read it silently.
When she finished, tears rolled down her face.
“She remembered.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“Mom remembered everything.””
I frowned.
“What do you mean?””
“She used to tell me I was her little detective.””
A sad smile appeared.
“She said I noticed things adults ignored.””
I looked away.
Because my daughter had been doing exactly that.
Noticing.
Watching.
Collecting proof.
Surviving.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the bracelet being taken?””
Nia picked at the grass.
“Because Mom said if I made problems, she would leave.””
“Leave?””
“She said she would take Zoe and Trey.””
My chest tightened.
“And you believed her?””
Nia nodded.
“I didn’t want them to lose another mom.””
That sentence destroyed me.
Because my daughter had been protecting everyone.
Everyone except herself.
That night, I made a decision.
I called Yolanda into the living room.
“We need to talk.””
She looked at me.
“What did you find?””
I placed Simone’s letter on the table.
Her face changed.
Just like Ethan’s.
Recognition.
Fear.
“You know what this is.””
She didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“How long?””
Her voice became quiet.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this far.””
“How long?””
She sat down.
“Since before Simone died.””
The room tilted.
“What?””
She covered her face.
“I was jealous.””
I stared.
“Of a dying woman?””
“Of a woman you would never stop loving.””
I felt nothing.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Nothing.
“You lied to me.””
“Yes.””
“You hurt my daughter.””
“Yes.””
The admission shocked me.
Because she finally stopped pretending.
Then she whispered:
“But you don’t know the worst part.””
I looked at her.
“What worst part?””
She reached into a drawer.
She pulled out an old phone.
“I recorded something.””
My heart started racing.
“What?””
She pressed play.
A voice filled the room.
A voice I hadn’t heard in seven years.
Simone.
And she was talking about me.
But she wasn’t alone.
Someone else was in the room with her.
Someone who had been there before she died.
May you like
Someone whose voice I recognized immediately.
Ethan.
