PART 3 — WHAT HAPPENED ON OCTOBER SEVENTEENTH
The room disappeared around me.
For one terrible second, I wasn’t thirty-five years old sitting in an attorney’s office anymore.
I was seventeen again.
Standing barefoot at the top of the staircase.
Listening to Vivian whisper my name downstairs.
October seventeenth.
The date had never left me.
I had simply trained myself not to say it out loud.
Alyssa looked at me.
“Candace?”
I couldn’t answer.
The recorder kept playing.
My father’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Candace never ran away because she hated this family.”
Vivian stepped toward Mr. Bennett.
“Stop this.”
He ignored her.
“She left because I failed her.”
Something inside my chest tightened so hard it hurt.
Dad continued.
“And because Vivian convinced her that staying would destroy someone she loved.”
Alyssa frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Vivian snapped,
“It means William was confused.”
My grandmother stood again.
“No.”
Vivian turned toward her.
Grandma’s face had changed.
There was no hesitation left.
“No more saying he was confused every time the truth becomes inconvenient.”
Vivian’s voice went cold.
“You weren’t there that night.”
Grandma looked at me.
“But Candace was.”
Every face in the room turned toward me.
I wanted to disappear.
Instead, I forced my hands to unclench.
Mr. Bennett paused the recording.
“You don’t have to discuss this here.”
Vivian immediately said,
“Good. Then we’re finished.”
“No.”
The word came from me.
My own voice surprised me.
Vivian turned.
I looked directly at her.
“We’re not finished.”
For eighteen years, I had imagined that moment differently.
Sometimes I pictured screaming.
Sometimes crying.
Sometimes throwing every accusation I had at her.
But now that it was finally here, I felt strangely calm.
“Play it.”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed.
“Candace.”
“Play it.”
Mr. Bennett pressed the button.
My father’s voice returned.
“On October seventeenth, I was away overnight for a business meeting in Columbus.”
I remembered.
That was what Vivian had told me too.
Dad was away.
Nobody would believe me.
Nobody was coming.
“Vivian and I had been arguing for months.”
My father coughed on the recording.
“She believed Candace was becoming a problem.”
Alyssa whispered,
“A problem?”
Dad continued.
“Candace had begun asking questions about her mother.”
My throat tightened.
My mother.
The subject nobody in that house was allowed to discuss.
She had died when I was six.
At least, that was the story I had been given.
A car accident.
Late at night.
Rain.
A funeral I barely remembered.
Afterward, Dad married Vivian.
And slowly, my mother disappeared from our home.
Pictures removed.
Clothes donated.
Her name spoken less and less until eventually asking about her felt like breaking a rule.
Dad’s voice continued.
“Candace found a box of letters in my study.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The box.
Dark blue.
Brass latch.
Hidden behind old tax files.
I had gone into Dad’s study looking for my birth certificate for a school application.
Instead, I found twelve letters.
Every one addressed to me.
Every one written years after my mother was supposedly dead.
Alyssa looked at me.
“What letters?”
I finally spoke.
“Letters from my mother.”
The room erupted.
“What?”
“Your mother?”
“I thought she died.”
My aunt stared at Vivian.
Even Mr. Bennett looked shaken.
Alyssa whispered,
“Your mom was alive?”
“Yes.”
Vivian’s face hardened.
“She was unstable.”
I turned toward her.
“You told me she was dead.”
“For your protection.”
“You held a funeral.”
“We needed closure.”
I stared at her.
I couldn’t believe I was finally hearing the words said openly.
Not in my nightmares.
Not in some imagined argument.
Here.
In front of everyone.
My father’s recording continued.
“Candace’s mother, Rebecca, did not die in a car accident.”
Grandma closed her eyes.
Dad spoke slowly.
“There was an accident. But Rebecca survived.”
Alyssa stared at me in horror.
“So all these years—”
“She was alive.”
My voice cracked.
Vivian said quickly,
“She abandoned you.”
I laughed.
It came out bitter.
“Is that what you’re still going with?”
“It’s the truth.”
“No.”
Dad’s voice interrupted us from the recorder.
“Rebecca did not abandon Candace.”
Vivian’s head snapped toward the speaker.
The room became silent again.
“She suffered serious injuries in the accident and spent months recovering.”
Dad paused.
“While she was recovering, I made the worst decision of my life.”
My breathing slowed.
This part I didn’t know.
Dad continued.
“I believed Rebecca’s doctors when they said stress could worsen her condition. I believed Vivian when she told me Candace needed stability.”
Grandma whispered,
“Oh, William.”
“I let temporary distance become permanent separation.”
My stomach turned.
My father had known.
Not all of it.
But enough.
“When Rebecca recovered and asked to see Candace, Vivian convinced me that reopening contact would confuse my daughter.”
Dad’s voice cracked.
“I agreed.”
I closed my eyes.
Seventeen years of wondering why my mother never came back.
And now I knew.
She had tried.
My father had stopped her.
Vivian had helped him justify it.
Alyssa looked sick.
Dad continued.
“But Rebecca never stopped writing.”
I opened my eyes.
“Every birthday.”
My voice was barely audible.
“Every Christmas.”
Alyssa looked at me.
“You saw them?”
“Not until I was seventeen.”
Dad said the same thing a second later.
“Vivian intercepted the letters.”
Every person in the room looked at her.
Vivian shook her head.
“That is not what happened.”
Grandma stepped closer.
“Then what happened?”
“She sent them to the house. I kept them because William asked me to.”
My father’s voice answered from the recorder.
“I never asked Vivian to hide Rebecca’s letters.”
Vivian froze.
Alyssa whispered,
“Mom.”
Vivian said nothing.
Dad continued.
“I didn’t even know they existed until much later.”
I stared at the recorder.
That part was new.
When I found the letters, I had assumed Dad had hidden them.
I had hated him for it.
For years.
Dad’s voice weakened.
“Vivian told Rebecca that Candace wanted no contact.”
My grandmother covered her mouth.
“She told Candace that Rebecca was dead.”
Alyssa whispered,
“Oh my God.”
“And when Candace found the letters on October seventeenth, Vivian panicked.”
Suddenly I could smell the house again.
Furniture polish.
Rain through the cracked kitchen window.
Vivian’s perfume.
My own sweat.
I remembered standing in the hallway with the letters clutched against my chest.
“What did you do?” I had screamed.
Vivian had been at the bottom of the stairs.
She didn’t deny anything.
She simply looked at the letters and said,
“You shouldn’t have gone into that room.”
I remembered laughing because the response was so absurd.
“My mother is alive.”
Vivian said,
“Lower your voice.”
“You told me she was dead.”
“Candace.”
“You told everyone she was dead!”
Then Vivian walked toward me.
Very slowly.
Calmly.
That calmness was what terrified me most.
“You don’t understand the situation.”
“I understand that you lied.”
“You were six years old.”
“I’m seventeen now.”
“Exactly.”
I had clutched the letters tighter.
“I’m calling Dad.”
Her expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
“No.”
“I’m telling him everything.”
“Your father already has enough stress.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
Then she said something I had spent eighteen years trying to forget.
“If you tell William about those letters, Alyssa loses everything.”
Back in the attorney’s office, Alyssa was watching me.
“What?”
I swallowed.
“She used you.”
Alyssa frowned.
“How?”
I looked at Vivian.
“You want to tell her?”
Vivian said nothing.
So I did.
“She told me Dad wasn’t Alyssa’s biological father.”
Alyssa’s face drained.
“She told you?”
“When I was seventeen.”
Everyone looked at Vivian.
Grandma whispered,
“You knew even then.”
Vivian snapped,
“Of course I knew.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Silence.
Alyssa slowly sat down.
Vivian realized what she had admitted.
Alyssa stared at her mother.
“All those years.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“You knew.”
Vivian stepped toward her.
“I was trying to protect you.”
Alyssa pulled away.
“From what?”
“From losing the only father you had.”
Alyssa shook her head.
“No.”
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“You don’t understand.”
“You keep saying that.”
Alyssa stood again.
“You told Candace I wasn’t Dad’s daughter when she was seventeen?”
Vivian didn’t answer.
“Why?”
I answered.
“Because she said if I told Dad about the letters, Dad would learn the truth about you.”
Alyssa looked at me.
“She said he would divorce her.”
Vivian looked down.
“She said Dad would blame you.”
Alyssa’s expression changed.
“She said he would send you away.”
“No.”
Vivian whispered.
I stared at her.
“Yes.”
“I never said send her away.”
“You said he would never look at her the same again.”
Vivian’s eyes hardened.
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Dad’s recording continued.
“Candace believed Vivian.”
My chest hurt.
“Because I had spent years letting Vivian become the authority in that house.”
I looked down.
“I made my daughter believe she had to choose between learning the truth about her mother and protecting her little sister.”
Alyssa covered her face.
“She chose Alyssa.”
The room seemed to tilt.
My father started crying on the recording.
Not loudly.
Just enough that we could hear him struggling to continue.
“She chose her sister.”
Alyssa looked at me through tears.
I stared at the floor.
For years she had thought I left because I didn’t care.
Because I hated them.
Because I wanted nothing to do with the family.
The truth was uglier.
I had packed one suitcase that night because Vivian convinced me there was only one way to keep Alyssa safe.
Disappear.
Vivian had stood by the front door while I shoved clothes into a bag.
“You cannot stay here after what you found.”
“Why not?”
“Because William will see something is wrong.”
“So I’ll tell him.”
“And destroy Alyssa?”
I remembered crying.
“I don’t want to destroy anyone.”
“Then leave.”
“Where?”
“You’re nearly eighteen.”
“I have no money.”
“You’re smart.”
She opened her purse.
Then handed me an envelope.
Three hundred dollars.
A bus schedule.
And a printed address for a youth hostel in Chicago.
She had planned it.
That was the part I had never wanted to admit.
She didn’t decide in the moment.
She had already prepared everything.
My father’s voice filled the office.
“Vivian gave Candace money and told her leaving voluntarily was the only way to keep Alyssa’s parentage secret.”
My aunt gasped.
Mr. Bennett stopped writing.
Even Vivian looked shaken.
Because now there was no room left to rewrite history.
“She also told Candace that Rebecca had chosen not to see her.”
I felt something break open inside me.
My head snapped toward the recorder.
“What?”
Vivian looked away.
Dad continued.
“That was another lie.”
I stood so quickly my chair scraped backward.
“What does that mean?”
Mr. Bennett looked at me.
The recorder continued.
“Rebecca never stopped asking about Candace.”
I could barely breathe.
“She hired attorneys.”
Grandma nodded slowly.
“I remember.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew?”
She looked devastated.
“Not all of it.”
My voice rose.
“What did you know?”
“I knew Rebecca was trying to find you.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father said there were legal issues.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Legal issues.”
Grandma’s eyes filled.
“I thought he was protecting you.”
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite excuse.”
Nobody answered.
Dad continued.
“When Candace left, Rebecca tried again.”
My hands began shaking.
“I learned years later that Vivian had intercepted those attempts too.”
Vivian suddenly reached for her bag again.
“I’m not listening to this.”
Alyssa blocked her path.
“You’re staying.”
Vivian stared at her.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Alyssa.”
“For once in my life, I want to hear the part you didn’t choose for me.”
Vivian stopped.
The recorder played on.
“Three weeks after Candace left, Rebecca came to the house.”
My entire body went cold.
I looked at Grandma.
She looked shocked.
Dad said,
“I was away.”
Of course he was.
“Vivian answered the door.”
My eyes locked on her.
“You saw her.”
Vivian’s jaw clenched.
“You saw my mother.”
No answer.
“She came here looking for me.”
Vivian whispered,
“Yes.”
The room erupted.
I barely heard them.
“What did you tell her?”
Vivian didn’t answer.
“What did you tell her?”
“She asked where you were.”
“And?”
“I told her you had left.”
“Where?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You had given me the address!”
Vivian’s silence told me everything.
I felt sick.
Dad’s recording continued.
“Vivian told Rebecca that Candace knew the truth and still wanted nothing to do with her.”
My knees weakened.
I sat down.
“No.”
Dad continued.
“Rebecca believed her.”
I covered my mouth.
For eighteen years I thought my mother had abandoned me.
For eighteen years she apparently thought I had rejected her.
Two people grieving each other while Vivian stood between us holding the truth.
Alyssa was crying openly now.
“Where is she?”
I looked at Mr. Bennett.
“Where is my mother?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me.
“You know, don’t you?”
Mr. Bennett folded his hands.
“Your father hired an investigator.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
My heart began pounding.
“Did he find her?”
Mr. Bennett looked at the recorder.
“Keep listening.”
Dad’s voice returned.
“Candace, if you are hearing this, there is something I need to tell you directly.”
For the first time, he said my name like he was speaking only to me.
“I found Rebecca.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“She is alive.”
I broke.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
I just covered my face and cried.
Eighteen years collapsed into one sentence.
Alive.
My mother was alive.
Grandma came toward me, but I raised one hand.
I needed space.
I needed air.
I needed every person in that room to disappear.
Dad continued.
“She lives in Michigan now.”
I lowered my hands.
Mr. Bennett pulled another envelope from the folder.
“She remarried many years ago.”
My stomach twisted.
“She has a family.”
That sentence hurt in a different way.
Of course she did.
Life doesn’t freeze because a child disappears.
“She never stopped looking for Candace.”
I closed my eyes.
Dad’s voice cracked again.
“And when my investigator contacted her, she asked only one question.”
A pause.
“Is my daughter alive?”
I cried harder.
Alyssa looked away.
Even my aunt was wiping tears.
Dad continued.
“I told the investigator not to contact her again until I could speak to Candace myself.”
My anger returned instantly.
Of course he did.
Another delay.
Another decision made for me.
“But I became ill before I found the courage.”
I shook my head.
“Coward.”
Nobody reacted.
Maybe because they agreed.
Dad said,
“I am sorry.”
I whispered,
“That doesn’t fix it.”
“You deserved the truth seventeen years ago.”
“Eighteen.”
“You deserved a father who chose courage instead of comfort.”
I looked at the recorder.
“And I hope someday you will believe that I spent the last year trying to repair what I helped break.”
Mr. Bennett reached toward the recorder.
But Dad wasn’t finished.
“There is another reason I made the biological-child provision in my will.”
Vivian went rigid.
I noticed immediately.
So did Alyssa.
Dad continued.
“I knew Vivian might challenge Candace.”
A bitter laugh almost escaped me.
“She had spent years questioning whether Candace was mine, even though I never doubted it.”
Vivian muttered,
“That isn’t true.”
My grandmother said,
“We all heard you.”
Dad continued.
“So I made the clause simple.”
Mr. Bennett looked at the will.
“If Candace’s parentage was challenged, DNA testing would be required for every claimed biological child.”
Alyssa whispered,
“He knew.”
“Yes,” Mr. Bennett said.
“He expected this.”
Vivian shook her head.
“No.”
Dad continued.
“And if that challenge came from Alyssa, I wanted her to learn the truth in the same room where Candace was finally vindicated.”
Alyssa stared at the floor.
Dad’s voice softened.
“Alyssa, none of this is your fault.”
She looked up at the recorder as if he could see her.
“You were a child raised inside a lie.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
“You are my daughter in every way that mattered to me.”
Alyssa began crying again.
“And I am sorry I never found the courage to tell you the truth myself.”
Alyssa whispered,
“Dad.”
I had never heard her voice sound so young.
Dad continued.
“But what you do after learning the truth is your choice.”
The room became still.
“Candace lost eighteen years because adults made choices for her.”
Alyssa looked at me.
“Do not take another day from her.”
The recording clicked.
Then stopped.
Nobody spoke.
Minutes seemed to pass.
Maybe seconds.
Finally, Mr. Bennett broke the silence.
“There are two additional envelopes.”
Vivian looked exhausted.
“What now?”
“One is addressed to Candace.”
He handed it to me.
“The other is addressed to Alyssa.”
She took hers carefully.
Vivian stared.
“Nothing for me?”
Mr. Bennett looked at her.
“No.”
That seemed to hurt her more than anything else.
I turned my envelope over.
My name was written across the front in Dad’s handwriting.
CANDACE.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
And a photograph.
I pulled out the photograph first.
A woman stood on the shore of a lake.
Older.
Silver beginning at her temples.
Blue sweater.
Soft smile.
My hands started shaking.
I knew her.
Not from memory.
From my own face.
Same eyes.
Same shape of the mouth.
Same little crease between the eyebrows.
On the back Dad had written:
Rebecca Collins.
Taken eight months ago.
I stared at the photograph so long the room disappeared.
Then I unfolded the letter.
Candace,
I do not deserve to ask you for forgiveness.
So I won’t.
What I can give you is the one thing I should have given you long ago.
A choice.
Enclosed with this letter is Rebecca’s current contact information.
She knows an investigator was trying to locate her daughter.
She does not know I found you.
Whether you contact her is entirely yours.
No one else gets to decide this time.
Dad.
My hands trembled.
There was another small card inside.
A phone number.
An address.
Traverse City, Michigan.
My mother.
Alyssa stared at the photograph.
“Is that her?”
I nodded.
“She looks like you.”
For the first time in our lives, there was no sarcasm in her voice.
Only sadness.
Then Alyssa opened her envelope.
She read silently.
Her expression changed.
Once.
Then again.
She looked at Vivian.
“What?”
Vivian asked.
Alyssa didn’t answer.
“What did he write?”
Alyssa folded the letter.
“Something I should have known a long time ago.”
She slipped it into her purse.
Vivian stepped forward.
“I’m your mother.”
Alyssa stared at her.
“I know.”
“I did everything for you.”
“No.”
Alyssa shook her head.
“You did everything for the life you wanted.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Was any of this fair?”
Vivian’s voice broke.
“I loved you.”
“I believe you.”
That seemed to surprise Vivian.
Alyssa continued.
“But loving me doesn’t erase what you did to her.”
She looked at me.
“And it doesn’t erase what you did to Dad.”
Vivian’s face hardened again.
“So now you’re taking her side.”
Alyssa stared at her.
“See?”
Vivian frowned.
“You still think there have to be sides.”
That sentence landed harder than any accusation.
Mr. Bennett cleared his throat.
“We still need to resolve the estate.”
Everyone slowly sat.
He opened another document.
“Based on the DNA findings, Candace is William Harper’s only biological child.”
Vivian looked away.
“Under the will, seventy percent of the estate transfers directly to Candace.”
I swallowed.
“Twelve-point-eight million?”
“The estate value has changed slightly due to market movement, but approximately seventy percent, yes.”
I did the math badly in my head.
Nearly nine million dollars.
It felt unreal.
Mr. Bennett continued.
“Alyssa receives the trust established through the forfeiture clause.”
Alyssa frowned.
“How much?”
“Approximately two-point-one million dollars.”
Vivian shot upright.
“What?”
Mr. Bennett looked at her.
“Your portion has been forfeited under the deception clause, pending final probate review.”
“My portion?”
“Yes.”
“That money belongs to me.”
“No.”
His voice stayed calm.
“It belonged to William.”
Vivian stared at him.
“I was his wife.”
“And he had the legal right to structure his estate accordingly.”
“What about the house?”
Mr. Bennett turned a page.
“The house passes to Candace.”
Vivian’s face went blank.
Alyssa looked at me.
I stared at Mr. Bennett.
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want it.”
Vivian looked shocked.
Mr. Bennett paused.
“You can sell it.”
I thought about every room.
The staircase.
The locked study.
The photographs I wasn’t included in.
The bedroom where I packed my suitcase.
The front door Vivian opened when my mother came looking for me.
“No.”
Everyone stared at me.
“I don’t want money from it.”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you saying?”
I looked at Mr. Bennett.
“Can I do something else with the property?”
“It will be yours. Within legal and tax limitations, yes.”
I turned toward Grandma.
“What happened to that women’s shelter Dad used to donate to?”
She blinked.
“Harbor House?”
“Yes.”
“It closed its residential wing a few years ago.”
I nodded.
Then looked at Mr. Bennett.
“Could the house be transferred to a nonprofit?”
Vivian stared at me.
“No.”
I ignored her.
Mr. Bennett considered it.
“Yes.”
“For what?”
He looked confused.
I looked around the room.
“For women and girls who need somewhere to go when home stops being safe.”
Silence.
Vivian’s face turned red.
“You would give away William’s house?”
I looked directly at her.
“It was never home to me.”
She flinched.
Alyssa lowered her eyes.
Mr. Bennett nodded slowly.
“We can explore that.”
“Do it.”
Vivian laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
I turned toward her.
“What does that mean?”
“You always wanted to punish me.”
“No.”
I stood.
“I wanted you to tell the truth.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“For yourself.”
“For my daughter.”
“You made your daughter afraid of losing a father who loved her.”
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“You don’t understand poverty.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to bury a living parent in your mind.”
She went silent.
I picked up the photograph of my mother.
“This woman spent eighteen years thinking I didn’t want her.”
Vivian whispered,
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“I was young.”
“So was I.”
Vivian opened her mouth.
Nothing came.
For the first time, she had no answer.
I put the card with my mother’s phone number into my pocket.
Mr. Bennett closed the estate folder.
“That concludes the formal reading.”
People slowly began standing.
But I stayed in my chair.
Alyssa lingered beside me.
Eventually the relatives drifted into the hallway.
Vivian left last.
At the door, she looked back.
Not at me.
At Alyssa.
“Are you coming?”
Alyssa shook her head.
Vivian’s face collapsed.
Then she walked away.
We listened to her footsteps disappear down the hall.
Alyssa sat across from me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered,
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
She was crying again.
“I know sorry doesn’t fix eighteen years.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t.”
She nodded.
“I hated you.”
“I know.”
“Because Mom told me you left because you thought you were better than us.”
I almost laughed.
“I left with three hundred dollars and a bus ticket.”
Alyssa wiped her face.
“She told me Dad spent years trying to find you and you refused to answer.”
I stared at her.
“That never happened.”
“I know that now.”
Silence.
Then she said,
“When you agreed to the DNA test, I thought you were bluffing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
Another silence.
“Candace?”
“What?”
“If you call your mom…”
She stopped.
I waited.
“I hope she answers.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“Thank you.”
She stood.
Then hesitated.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
She nodded.
“I just wanted you to know that.”
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped again.
“And the house?”
“Yes?”
“What you’re doing with it.”
She looked down.
“Dad would probably hate losing the property value.”
I smiled faintly.
“Probably.”
“But I think he’d understand.”
Then she left.
I sat alone in the attorney’s office.
Nine million dollars.
A house.
A dead father’s apology.
A sister who had discovered her entire identity was built around someone else’s lie.
None of it mattered as much as the little card in my hand.
Rebecca Collins.
A phone number.
I stared at it for ten minutes.
Maybe twenty.
Mr. Bennett quietly returned once, saw me sitting there, and left without saying anything.
Finally, I took out my phone.
I typed the number.
Deleted it.
Typed it again.
My thumb hovered over CALL.
What do you say to a mother you buried in your mind eighteen years ago?
Hello?
It’s Candace?
Did you miss me?
Did you hate me?
Did you ever stop looking?
I almost put the phone away.
Then I remembered Dad’s letter.
No one else gets to decide this time.
So I pressed CALL.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
On the fourth ring, someone answered.
A woman’s voice.
Older.
Careful.
“Hello?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Hello?”
My throat closed.
Finally I whispered,
“Is this Rebecca Collins?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
My entire body started shaking.
“My name is Candace.”
Nothing.
Not even breathing.
Then I heard something fall on her end of the line.
A cup.
Maybe a phone charger.
I didn’t know.
“Candace?”
She said my name like a prayer she had repeated for eighteen years.
I started crying.
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
She was crying too.
“Oh my God, Candace.”
Neither of us could speak for several seconds.
Then she asked the question that shattered whatever was left of me.
“Did you get my letters?”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
She made a sound like the answer physically hurt.
“I wrote every year.”
“I know.”
“Your birthday. Christmas. Graduation age. Every year.”
“I know.”
“I came to the house.”
“I know.”
“She told me you didn’t want me.”
I cried harder.
“She told me you didn’t want me either.”
Silence.
Then my mother whispered,
“They stole us from each other.”
I looked through Mr. Bennett’s office window at the city below.
“No.”
My voice steadied.
“They stole years.”
Rebecca stopped crying.
I swallowed.
“But they don’t get the rest.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Candace.”
“I want to see you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
That word nearly destroyed me.
“I can come to Chicago.”
“No.”
I wiped my eyes.
“I’m coming to you.”
“When?”
I looked at the time.
Then at my father’s photograph sitting beside the will.
“Tomorrow.”
She laughed through tears.
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be here.”
We stayed on the phone another forty minutes.
Mostly crying.
Mostly asking questions too big to answer over a phone call.
When we finally hung up, I sat there staring at the screen.
For the first time since I was seventeen, the future felt bigger than the past.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
But something made me open it.
There was no greeting.
No name.
Just one sentence.
Before you go to Michigan, ask Rebecca why William was never supposed to find out who was driving the car the night of her accident.
I stared at the screen.
My blood went cold.
Then another message appeared.
And if Vivian told you the accident was random, she lied about that too…….
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4.
