Chapter 5: The Husband Who Knew Too Much
For several seconds after the call ended, I couldn’t move.
The phone remained pressed against my ear even though there was nothing but silence on the other end.
Claire.
My sister.
The woman whose funeral I attended.
The woman whose ashes were sitting in a small wooden box on my bedroom shelf.
Claire had just spoken to me.
Or someone had used her voice.
And either possibility terrified me.
“Emily?””
Jackson’s voice pulled me back.
I lowered the phone slowly.
His face was pale.
“What happened?””
I stared at him.
The question should have sounded concerned.
It should have sounded like a husband desperate to understand why his wife looked like she had just seen a ghost.
But all I could hear was Claire’s voice.
*Jackson knows why I died.*
I took a step back.
“Who was that?””
Jackson frowned.
“Who?””
“The person who called me.””
“I don’t know.””
I studied his face.
Looking for a reaction.
A flinch.
A moment of guilt.
Anything.
But Jackson had always been good at hiding things.
That was something I had never noticed before.
Or maybe I had noticed and ignored it.
“Emily?””
“Claire called me.””
The color drained from his face.
Just for a second.
But it happened.
And that was enough.
“What?””
I watched him carefully.
“You heard me.””
“That’s impossible.””
“Why?””
“Because she’s dead.””
The answer came too quickly.
Too confidently.
Not shock.
Not confusion.
Certainty.
“Why did you say it like that?””
He looked at me.
“Like what?””
“Like you’re the one who knows.””
He shook his head.
“I don’t understand.””
“No.””
My voice became quieter.
“I don’t understand.””
A silence stretched between us.
Then the baby monitor on the kitchen counter crackled.
Both of us turned.
Mia’s room.
A small sound came through.
I moved immediately.
But before I reached the hallway, Jackson grabbed my arm.
“Wait.””
I looked down at his hand.
Then at him.
Slowly, he let go.
“Sorry.””
I walked to Mia’s room.
She was sitting up in bed.
Rosie was tucked under her chin.
Her nightlight was glowing softly beside her.
“Mia?””
She looked at me.
“Mommy?””
I sat beside her.
“Are you okay?””
She nodded.
Then she looked past me.
At Jackson standing in the doorway.
“Daddy?””
He forced a smile.
“Hey, sweetheart.””
Mia pulled the blanket closer.
“Are we going back to Grandma’s?””
The question hit me harder than I expected.
“No.””
I answered immediately.
“Not today.””
“Tomorrow?””
I looked at her.
“No.””
Her little eyebrows pulled together.
“Why?””
I opened my mouth.
But I didn’t know how to explain.
How do you tell a three-year-old that adults she trusted had turned her life upside down?
“You’re staying with Mommy.””
She seemed relieved.
Then she whispered:
“Grandma said Daddy would make you change your mind.””
The room went completely silent.
I looked at Jackson.
He looked as shocked as I felt.
“What did she say?”” he asked.
Mia looked between us.
“She said Daddy always fixes things.””
My stomach tightened.
Because that was true.
Jackson always fixed things.
But he fixed them in ways that kept everyone quiet.
He fixed arguments by asking me to apologize.
He fixed problems by telling me to let things go.
He fixed his mother’s behavior by pretending it wasn’t happening.
I kissed Mia’s forehead.
“Go back to sleep, baby.””
When she finally closed her eyes, I walked back into the hallway.
Jackson followed.
“What was that?””
I turned around.
“What was what?””
“You think I’m involved?””
“I think you’re hiding something.””
“I’m not.””
“Then tell me about Claire.””
His jaw tightened.
“I already told you.””
“No. You told me pieces.””
“There aren’t any more pieces.””
“Then why did Claire say you know why she died?””
His expression changed.
A flicker of fear crossed his face.
Then disappeared.
“I don’t know.””
“Stop saying that.””
“Because it’s true.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You know something.””
He looked away.
And that hurt.
Because denial would have been easier.
Anger would have been easier.
But silence?
Silence meant there was something there.
“Jackson.””
He sat down on the couch.
For the first time all day, he looked exhausted.
“I need to tell you something.””
I remained standing.
“Okay.””
He rubbed his hands together.
“Three weeks before Claire died, she came to see me.””
My heart started pounding.
“She came to see you?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“She wanted to ask me questions.””
“About your mother?””
He nodded.
I felt sick.
“What questions?””
“She asked if I knew anything about Lorraine’s past.””
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
“She thought Mom was hiding something.””
“Did you ask her what?””
“I did.””
“And?””
Jackson swallowed.
“She wouldn’t tell me.””
“Why?””
“She said she needed proof first.””
I looked toward the window.
Rain had started falling outside.
Soft drops against the glass.
“Proof of what?””
Jackson didn’t answer.
“Jackson.””
His voice dropped.
“She said Lorraine had been lying to people for years.””
“About what?””
“I don’t know.””
“You keep saying that.””
“Because Claire never told me.””
“Then why did she come to you?””
He looked down.
“Because she thought I was the only person who could help her.””
Those words hurt.
Not because of Claire.
Because of him.
“Did you help her?””
The silence was enough.
I felt my chest tighten.
“Did you?””
Jackson looked away.
“I tried.””
“What does that mean?””
“I told her to stop.””
I stared at him.
“You told my sister to stop investigating?””
“She was making accusations.””
“Against your mother.””
“Yes.””
“And you believed your mother over Claire.””
“I didn’t know what to believe.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You didn’t want to know.””
He looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw regret.
Real regret.
“She was angry at me.””
“Who?””
“Claire.””
“Why?””
“Because I wouldn’t give her what she wanted.””
“What did she want?””
He hesitated.
Then:
“Access.””
“To what?””
“My mother’s computer.””
I felt cold.
“Why?””
“She said there was something on it.””
“What?””
“I don’t know.””
Again.
That word.
I almost screamed.
But I didn’t.
Because suddenly I remembered something.
Something small.
Something I had ignored.
The week before Claire died, she had sent me a message.
I had never answered.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I was angry.
The message had said:
*Emily, I need you to trust me. Something is wrong. Please don’t let Lorraine get close to Mia until we talk.*
I had thought it was another one of Claire’s worries.
I had been exhausted.
Pregnant.
Overwhelmed.
And Lorraine had spent months telling me Claire was becoming paranoid.
I deleted the message.
I regretted it every day.
But now...
Now I wondered what Claire had discovered.
“What happened the night she died?”” I asked.
Jackson became completely still.
“Emily.””
“Answer me.””
“It was an accident.””
“You told me that four years ago.””
“Because it was.””
“Then why are you scared?””
His face changed.
“I’m not.””
“You are.””
“No.””
“Jackson.””
My voice broke.
“Did my sister die because of something your mother did?””
He stood up.
“No.””
The answer was immediate.
Almost desperate.
“Then what happened?””
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
And his face went white.
I watched him.
“Who is it?””
He didn’t answer.
“Jackson.””
Slowly, he turned the phone around.
The name on the screen made my blood run cold.
*Mom.*
The call kept ringing.
Neither of us moved.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
A message had already been left.
Jackson pressed play.
Lorraine’s voice filled the room.
“Jackson, you need to come here tonight.””
A pause.
Then her voice became quieter.
“Emily knows too much now.””
I stopped breathing.
The message continued.
“If she asks about Claire, don’t tell her the truth.””
Jackson looked at me.
But I wasn’t looking at him anymore.
Because Lorraine had just confirmed the one thing I had been afraid to admit.
She wasn’t surprised that I was searching for answers.
She was afraid of what I would find.
Then the voicemail ended.
And a second notification appeared.
A new message.
From Lorraine.
May you like
Only three words.
*“She found it.””*
