Chapter Four: The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I stared at the photograph until my eyes hurt.
My father.
Alive.
Standing outside a house I recognized immediately.
His old house.
The house where I had spent my childhood.
The house that had been sold after his death.
The house that had supposedly been empty for years.
And beside him stood Daniel.
My husband.
The timestamp on the photograph said yesterday.
Yesterday.
I looked at Daniel.
"Tell me this isn't real."
He didn't answer.
"Daniel."
His face had gone pale.
"Where did you get that?"
"Someone sent it to me."
He reached for my phone.
I pulled it away.
"Don't."
"Emily, please."
"Don't touch me."
He stopped.
I zoomed in on the photograph.
My father's face was older than I remembered, but there was no mistaking him.
The same silver hair.
The same broad shoulders.
The same watch he had worn almost every day of his life.
My father had a small scar above his left eyebrow from an accident when he was young.
It was visible in the photograph.
This wasn't some stranger who resembled him.
It was him.
Or someone who looked exactly like him.
"Is my father alive?"
Daniel closed his eyes.
I waited.
"Answer me."
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I haven't seen him in three years."
"Then why are you standing beside him in this photograph?"
He stared at me.
"I didn't take that photograph."
"But you're in it."
"I know."
"Then explain it."
He ran both hands through his hair.
"I can't."
I laughed bitterly.
"That's your favorite sentence."
I turned away.
My entire body was shaking.
My father had been dead.
I'd watched doctors pronounce him dead.
I'd seen his body.
I'd attended his funeral.
I'd watched the coffin lowered into the ground.
Had all of that been a lie?
I remembered the funeral.
Something suddenly felt wrong.
I'd been too devastated to notice details back then.
Daniel had handled almost everything.
He had spoken to the funeral director.
He had arranged the paperwork.
He had told me when to visit the hospital.
He had even insisted that I didn't need to see my father's body again.
At the time, I thought he was protecting me.
Now I wondered what he had been protecting me from.
"Where is my father's grave?"
Daniel looked confused.
"Why?"
"Answer me."
"You know where it is."
"I want to go there."
"Emily—"
"Now."
He stepped toward me.
"No."
I stared at him.
"No?"
"You shouldn't go there."
"Why?"
"Because whoever sent that photograph wants you to."
My blood ran cold.
"How do you know?"
"Because they're manipulating you."
"Maybe they're showing me the truth."
Daniel looked away.
I grabbed my purse.
"I'm going."
He caught my wrist.
"Emily, listen to me."
I yanked my arm free.
"Don't ever grab me again."
His expression crumbled.
"I don't want anything to happen to you."
"You should have thought about that before you lied to me for seven years."
I walked out.
He followed me.
I ignored him.
We drove separately.
When I reached the cemetery, I walked straight toward my father's grave.
The flowers I'd left there two weeks earlier were still visible.
I stopped.
The stone read:
Robert Bennett
Beloved Father
1958–2023
My chest tightened.
2023.
Three years.
I knelt.
I touched the engraved name.
"I'm here, Dad."
My voice broke.
"I don't understand."
I pulled out the photograph.
"I saw you."
The wind moved through the trees.
For several minutes, I just sat there.
Then I noticed something.
The soil around the grave looked disturbed.
I stood.
I looked closer.
There were fresh footprints.
Not mine.
Not Daniel's.
Someone had been here recently.
I crouched beside the grave.
A small piece of white paper was sticking out from underneath the stone's edge.
I pulled it free.
There was only one sentence.
The grave is empty.
My heart stopped.
I looked behind me.
Daniel was standing several yards away.
"Emily?"
I held up the paper.
His face changed.
"Where did you get that?"
"Here."
He came closer.
I stepped backward.
"Don't."
He stopped.
"Someone wants you to believe your father is alive."
"Maybe because he is."
"There's no way."
"You just said you haven't seen him in three years."
"I haven't."
"Then how can you be sure he's dead?"
Daniel looked toward the grave.
"Because I was there."
"When?"
"The night he died."
My breathing stopped.
"What did you do?"
"I told you. I went there to retrieve the evidence."
"Did you see him die?"
Daniel said nothing.
"Daniel."
"No."
The answer was barely audible.
"No, I didn't."
I stared at him.
"Then how do you know he's dead?"
"I don't."
Those three words terrified me more than anything else.
I stood slowly.
"You've been lying to me."
"Yes."
"About my father."
"Yes."
"About Vanessa."
"Yes."
"About your marriage."
His eyes filled with tears.
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"Why?"
"Because every time I tried to tell you the truth, someone threatened you."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You always say that."
"I genuinely don't know."
I looked at the grave.
"Then we're going to find out."
I walked away.
Daniel didn't stop me this time.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I sat at my dining table with the documents spread around me.
The marriage certificate.
My father's letter.
The business agreement.
The photograph.
The note from the cemetery.
Nothing made sense.
At around two in the morning, my phone buzzed.
A message.
You want proof?
I stared at it.
I typed:
Yes.
The reply came almost immediately.
Go to your father's old house tomorrow at midnight. Come alone.
I hesitated.
Then another message arrived.
Bring Daniel's wedding ring.
My eyes widened.
Why did they want his wedding ring?
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
If you tell Daniel, you'll never see your father again.
My heart stopped.
I read it three times.
Then I dropped the phone onto the table.
My father.
They had just claimed they had my father.
If this was true, everything had changed.
But if it was a trap, walking into it alone could be dangerous.
I decided not to tell Daniel.
For the first time in seven years, I kept a secret from my husband.
The next morning, I watched Daniel carefully.
He was sitting at the kitchen counter drinking coffee.
He looked exhausted.
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Neither did I."
Silence.
Then he looked at me.
"Are you leaving me?"
I hadn't expected the question.
"I don't know."
He nodded slowly.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
He set down his cup.
"I know what I've done."
"You don't know everything you've done."
He looked at me.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
I stood.
"I need to go out."
"Where?"
"To see a friend."
His expression changed.
"What friend?"
I almost smiled.
For seven years, he had never questioned my friendships.
Now he wanted to know everything.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know who I can trust anymore."
I walked away.
Behind me, he said something softly.
"Neither do I."
I stopped.
But I didn't turn around.
That evening, I took Daniel's spare key and drove to my father's old house.
I arrived shortly before midnight.
The house looked exactly as I remembered.
Except for one thing.
There was a light on upstairs.
My heart began pounding.
Someone was inside.
I parked several houses away and approached on foot.
The front door was unlocked.
I pushed it open.
"Dad?"
Nothing.
I stepped inside.
The house smelled old and dusty.
I moved through the living room.
Everything was covered in sheets.
Then I heard footsteps upstairs.
I froze.
"Hello?"
No response.
I climbed the stairs.
Halfway up, I saw a photograph on the wall.
My father.
My mother.
And me as a little girl.
I touched it.
A voice came from behind me.
"You look just like her."
I spun around.
A man stood at the end of the hallway.
Older.
Tall.
Gray-haired.
My heart stopped.
I knew that face.
I had seen it my entire childhood.
"Dad?"
He stared at me.
His eyes filled with tears.
"Emily."
I couldn't breathe.
My knees almost gave out.
"You're alive."
He nodded.
"I've been alive all this time."
I rushed toward him.
He caught me in his arms.
For a few seconds, I was a little girl again.
I cried against his chest.
He held me tightly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Why?"
"Because I had to leave you."
"Why did everyone tell me you were dead?"
"Because they needed you to believe it."
"Who?"
He pulled away.
His expression became serious.
"Your husband."
I froze.
"What?"
"Daniel helped them."
"No."
"I'm afraid so."
"You don't understand."
"I understand more than you think."
My father looked toward the staircase.
"Where is Daniel?"
"I didn't tell him I was coming."
"Good."
"Why?"
My father grabbed my shoulders.
"Because if Daniel knows you're here, you won't have much time."
My blood ran cold.
"What are you talking about?"
He looked toward the window.
Then he whispered:
"Vanessa isn't the woman you should fear."
I swallowed.
"Then who?"
Before he could answer, headlights swept across the curtains.
A car had stopped outside.
My father's face went white.
"They found you."
"Who?"
He looked at me.
Then he said the words that shattered whatever hope I'd had of finally understanding everything.
"The woman Daniel has been protecting all these years."
The front door slammed open downstairs.
My father grabbed my hand.
"Run."
And then I heard Daniel's voice echo through the house.
"Emily!"
I stopped.
Because Daniel wasn't alone.
A woman's voice called from behind him.
"Come out, Emily."
I knew that voice.
It was Vanessa.
But then another woman stepped into view at the bottom of the stairs.
A woman I had never seen before.
My father stared at her in horror.
"That's impossible."
I looked at him.
"Who is she?"
He whispered:
"Your mother."
