Chapter 7: The Letter Angela Left Behind
I drove to my mother's house before sunrise.
I hadn't slept.
The photograph of Angela's envelope had been open on my phone all night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her handwriting.
I know what Denise is capable of.
It made no sense.
Angela had died before I married Denise.
How could she have known?
When I arrived, my mother was already waiting at the front door.
She held a small cardboard box.
"Come inside," she whispered.
Malik was still asleep.
We sat at the kitchen table.
My mother placed the box between us.
"I found this yesterday while looking for some old photographs.""
I opened it.
Inside were birthday cards, medical documents, several photographs, and a sealed envelope.
Angela's handwriting was unmistakable.
My name was written across the front.
I carefully opened it.
The letter was dated two months before Angela died.
Marcus,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I hoped would never happen.
I need you to remember something about Malik.
He is a good boy. He is sensitive, but he is not weak. He notices things adults think children don't understand.
If I am not here one day, please don't let anyone convince him that he is difficult to love.
I stopped reading.
My eyes filled.
I remembered Angela writing little notes like this.
She had always known how to say something important without making it sound complicated.
I continued.
I have concerns about someone who has recently become part of our lives.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
I don't want to create problems for you. But I have seen how this person behaves when nobody important is watching.
I looked at my mother.
"Who was she talking about?""
Evelyn shook her head.
"Keep reading.""
The next paragraph made my blood run cold.
I noticed that this woman treats Malik differently when you leave the room. She speaks gently when you are present, but her tone changes when she thinks nobody can hear her.
I stopped.
There was only one woman who fit that description.
Denise.
But Angela had died before Denise and I began dating.
I read the letter again.
Then I noticed the date.
Two months before Angela's death.
I looked at my mother.
"Mom, who is this woman?""
Evelyn took a deep breath.
"Do you remember Angela's coworker from the hospital? Patricia?""
I nodded.
"Patricia Wells?""
"Yes.""
"Of course.""
"Angela met Denise through Patricia.""
I frowned.
"What?""
My mother continued.
"Denise volunteered at a charity event organized by the hospital. Angela had been there too.""
I felt a chill move down my spine.
"Are you saying Angela knew Denise before she died?""
Evelyn nodded.
"Not well. But they met.""
I stared at the letter.
The next paragraph explained something even more disturbing.
If you ever meet Denise again, please be careful. She asked me questions about our home, our savings, and Malik's future. I didn't like the way she spoke about him.
I looked up.
"Why didn't Angela tell me?""
My mother lowered her eyes.
"She was afraid you'd think she was being unreasonable.""
I swallowed.
"What happened between them?""
Evelyn reached into the box and removed a second envelope.
"This was underneath the first.""
It contained a photograph.
Angela was standing beside a younger Denise at what appeared to be a hospital charity event.
They were smiling.
On the back, Angela had written:
Patricia introduced us. Denise asked about Malik's inheritance again.
I stared at the photograph.
Denise had known Angela.
She had known about Malik's insurance policy.
And she had entered my life knowing that my son had a substantial financial inheritance.
I felt sick.
My mother touched my arm.
"Marcus, there's more.""
She removed another document.
It was a handwritten note from Angela.
I asked Patricia to help me verify something about Denise. She promised she would speak to me after the weekend.
I looked at my mother.
"Did Angela ever speak to Patricia?""
"I don't know.""
I pulled out my phone and searched my contacts.
Patricia Wells.
The same name that had appeared on my bank call the previous day.
I called her.
She answered after several rings.
"Hello?""
"Patricia, this is Marcus Johnson.""
There was a pause.
"Marcus?""
"Yes. I need to ask you about Angela.""
Her breathing changed.
"What about Angela?""
"Did she know Denise before she died?""
Silence.
Then Patricia said, "Where did you find out about that?""
I looked at the photograph.
"So it's true.""
She sighed.
"Marcus, I didn't think this would ever come up again.""
"Please tell me what happened.""
She was quiet for several seconds.
Then she said, "Angela asked me to look into Denise.""
"Why?""
"Because she believed Denise was asking personal questions about her family.""
I closed my eyes.
"What kind of questions?""
"Angela said Denise wanted to know about the insurance policy, the house, and whether Malik would inherit anything.""
My stomach tightened.
"Did Angela confront her?""
"Yes.""
"When?""
"A few days before Angela went into the hospital.""
I stared at the table.
"What did Denise say?""
Patricia lowered her voice.
"She said she was only interested in helping.""
I gripped the phone.
"Did you believe her?""
"No.""
I waited.
Patricia continued.
"Angela gave me copies of some messages. She asked me to keep them in case anything happened to her.""
My heart started pounding.
"Do you still have them?""
"Yes.""
"Can I see them?""
"I think you should.""
I thanked her and ended the call.
My mother looked at me.
"Now do you understand why I was worried?""
I nodded.
But there was something I still couldn't understand.
Why had Denise entered my life after Angela died?
Was it coincidence?
Had she simply remembered me from the charity event?
Or had she deliberately approached me because she knew about Malik's inheritance?
Before I could ask another question, I heard footsteps.
Malik stood in the kitchen doorway.
His eyes were fixed on the photograph.
"That's Mom.""
I nodded.
He approached the table.
"Why do you have that picture?""
I moved the letter toward him.
"Grandma found some things your mother left behind.""
He picked up the photograph.
His thumb brushed Angela's face.
"She looks happy.""
"She was," I whispered.
Malik smiled faintly.
"She used to say she wanted me to grow up kind.""
I put my arm around him.
"She would be proud of you.""
He looked at the letter.
"Is that something Mom wrote?""
"Yes.""
He carefully read the first paragraph.
Then he stopped.
"What's Denise doing in this?""
I hesitated.
I didn't want to frighten him.
But I wasn't going to lie again.
"Your mother knew Denise before she died. She had concerns about her.""
Malik looked confused.
"How?""
"We're still finding out.""
He lowered the photograph.
"Does that mean Denise knew about me before she married you?""
I nodded.
His face went pale.
"Then she never wanted me?""
I immediately took his hands.
"Malik, listen to me. Her choices are not a reflection of your worth.""
He looked away.
"But why would someone marry you if they didn't want your child?""
I didn't have an answer.
Not yet.
That afternoon, Patricia sent me a scanned copy of the messages Angela had saved.
There were six screenshots.
The first five were ordinary conversations about the charity event.
The sixth was different.
It showed Denise asking Angela whether Malik's insurance money would be placed in a trust.
Angela replied:
That's private. Why are you asking?
Denise responded:
Because children need responsible adults to manage their money.
Angela wrote:
Marcus is his father. He will manage it.
Denise replied:
And what happens if Marcus remarries? What if someone else ends up controlling the household?
Angela's final message was short.
I would never allow someone to use my son.
I stared at the screen.
Then I opened the sixth screenshot again.
There was a timestamp.
It was sent at 9:14 p.m., three days before Angela was admitted to the hospital.
I scrolled down.
There was another message from Denise.
One I hadn't noticed before.
If anything happens to you, Marcus will eventually need someone to help him raise Malik.
My hands went cold.
May you like
Because Denise hadn't simply been asking about the insurance policy.
She had been discussing a future in which Angela was no longer alive.
