Chapter 2 - The Letter and the Photo
The woods offered a momentary sanctuary from the watchful eyes of my family. Kneeling beside an ancient stone wall overgrown with ivy, I broke the red wax seal with trembling fingers.
Inside were two items: a five-page letter written in Aunt Rose’s sharp, neat script, and an old black-and-white photograph tucked inside a clear plastic sleeve.
I pulled out the photograph first.
My breath hitched. The photo showed my father, young and beaming, wearing his old leather bomber jacket. He was sitting on the wooden steps of a porch—the very porch of the house I grew up in. But sitting next to him was not my mother.
It was the silver-haired woman currently standing near his grave. In her arms, she was holding a tiny, swaddled newborn baby. On the back of the photo, written in my father's handwriting, were the words: “Our secret light. May 14, 1998.”
May 14, 1998. That was the exact day I was in the hospital having emergency surgery for an appendicitis when I was fifteen years old. My father had disappeared two days later.
My hands shaking uncontrollably, I unfolded the pages of Aunt Rose's letter.
“My dearest Gabriella,
If you are reading this, it means I am gone, and the cowardice that kept me quiet for twenty-three years has finally died with me. I am so sorry, my sweet girl. I am sorry for every birthday you spent wondering why your father left. I am sorry for every tears you shed thinking you weren't enough to make him stay.
Your father, Robert, never left you. He never ran away to another country. He never abandoned his daughter.
The truth is far darker, Gabriella. Twenty-three years ago, your father discovered a secret about your mother and the family business that threatened to ruin everything Eleanor had built. When he threatened to go to the police, your mother made a deal with him. But things spiraled out of control.
Robert didn't abandon us. He was destroyed by the very woman who claimed to love him. And the woman standing at his grave today—her name is Margaret. She was the nurse who tried to save him the night he died.
Julian found out five years ago. He didn't tell you because he was trying to protect you, but also because your mother held something over his head—something that could destroy your marriage and Julian's career. Look under the floorboards in my attic bedroom, Gabriella. The real birth certificate and the police reports are there.
Forgive me, my darling. Protect yourself. Do not trust Eleanor.
Love always, Aunt Rose”
A sharp gasp escaped my throat. Tears blurred my vision as I re-read the words again and again. Robert didn't abandon us... Julian found out five years ago... Your mother held something over his head.
“Gabby?”
I snapped my head up. Julian was standing at the edge of the treeline, ten feet away. He had taken off his leather gloves, and his face was twisted in an expression of sheer anguish and guilt.
“Gabby, please,” he said softly, holding his hands up defensively. “Let me explain before you talk to your mother.”
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“You lied to me!” I screamed, pushing myself up against the cold stone wall. The white chrysanthemums fell into the snow at my feet. “You’ve been lying to me for five years! You used our savings—our money—to buy roses for a dead man's grave while you looked me in the eye and said you were going to a job site!”
“I had to buy those roses for Margaret!” Julian shouted back, his voice cracking with emotion. “Because today isn't just the day of your aunt’s funeral, Gabby! Today is the twenty-third anniversary of the day your father died!”
