Chapter 2: The Box I Thought Was Buried
Marcus didn't come back to bed that night.
I heard him moving around in the living room long after midnight. A cabinet opened. A glass touched the kitchen counter. Then silence.
Our son slept peacefully in my arms.
I stared at the ceiling.
Every few minutes, I looked toward the nightstand.
The photograph was still there.
Andre's face was slightly faded, but his smile remained unmistakable. He was wearing a black hoodie, standing beside his old Honda, one hand resting on the roof.
I remembered the day that picture was taken.
It had been his twenty-second birthday.
I had bought him a cheap chocolate cake because I couldn't afford anything better. He had laughed, kissed my cheek, and told me it was the best birthday present he'd ever received.
I reached toward the photograph.
Then I stopped.
Marcus had touched it.
He had seen it.
And now I couldn't pretend Andre belonged to a distant chapter of my life.
At 2:17 a.m., I finally placed our son in his bassinet.
I walked into the living room.
Marcus was sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees. The television was off. His phone lay face down on the coffee table.
He looked up when I entered.
“Is he asleep?””
“Yes.””
“Good.””
I sat in the armchair across from him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I said, “I should have told you.””
Marcus rubbed his palms together.
“Yeah. You should have.””
“I was scared.””
“Of what? That I wouldn't let you use the name?””
I looked down.
“Maybe.””
“Danielle, I don't understand.””
His voice wasn't angry now.
That somehow made it worse.
“We've been married for three years. I know about your childhood. I know about your mother's divorce.
I know about your first job, your favorite teacher, and why you hate hospitals. But somehow, I don't know that you were carrying a dead man's name into our marriage.””
“He wasn't just a dead man.””
Marcus looked away.
“I know that.””
“He was important to me.””
“I understand that.””
“He died violently. I never got to say goodbye.””
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
I wiped my eyes.
“Because I thought if I said his name, I'd have to feel everything again.””
Marcus stared at the floor.
“And you thought naming our son after him would somehow fix that?””
I flinched.
“I didn't think of it like that.””
“Then how did you think of it?””
I had no answer.
He stood and walked toward the kitchen.
“Do you know what hurt the most?””
I followed him with my eyes.
“What?””
“You watched me get excited about becoming a father. You watched me talk about our son's name. You let me believe we were choosing it together.””
“I know.””
“You let me stand in that hospital room and announce his name to everybody.””
His voice cracked.
“My mother cried when she heard it. My brother said it was beautiful. I told everybody we had chosen it because it meant something special to both of us.””
He turned toward me.
“Did you ever think about what I was telling them?””
I covered my mouth.
Marcus shook his head.
“I told people my son was named after something we shared.””
He paused.
“But apparently, I was the only one who didn't know what it meant.””
The next morning, my mother called.
I almost didn't answer.
But when I saw her name on the screen, I knew she had something to do with the photograph.
“Hello?””
“Baby, how's my grandson?””
I looked toward the bedroom.
“Sleeping.””
“That's good. Listen, I need to talk to you.””
My stomach tightened.
“About what?””
There was a pause.
“Did Marcus see the photograph?””
I closed my eyes.
“Mom.””
“Oh, Danielle.””
“Did you put it there?””
She sighed.
“I thought you should tell him.””
I stood up.
“You went into my bedroom?””
“I was visiting my daughter.””
“You went through my things?””
“I didn't go through anything. You left that picture in the storage box, and I found it when I was looking for the baby blankets.””
“Then why did you bring it here?””
“Because I thought you needed to stop hiding.””
I felt my face grow hot.
“You had no right.””
“Maybe not. But somebody had to say something.””
“Say what?””
“That you can't keep building your life around a secret.””
I lowered my voice.
“Marcus is devastated.””
“Then tell him the truth.””
“I did.””
“No, sweetheart. You told him about a name. You didn't tell him about Andre.””
I gripped the phone.
“What does that mean?””
My mother's voice became quieter.
“Did you ever tell Marcus what happened the night Andre died?””
I stared at the kitchen wall.
“He was murdered. That's what happened.””
“That's what the police told you.””
A chill moved through my body.
“What are you talking about?””
My mother took a breath.
“There's something you don't know.””
Before she could continue, I heard the front door open.
Marcus had returned from the pharmacy.
He placed a small bag on the counter and looked at me.
“Who are you talking to?””
“My mother.””
I turned away.
She continued speaking.
“Danielle, I think it's time you—”
“I have to go.””
“Wait. Baby, don't hang up.””
I ended the call.
Marcus watched me.
“What was that about?””
“Nothing.””
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he looked at the phone.
“Your mother mentioned Andre?””
I froze.
He took the pharmacy bag into the kitchen.
“She called me last night.””
My heart dropped.
“What?””
“After I left the bedroom.””
I walked toward him.
“What did she say?””
Marcus removed a bottle of infant vitamin drops from the bag.
“She asked if I had found the picture.””
I stared at him.
He continued.
“She said there was a reason you never talked about him.””
“Marcus, please—”
“She also said I shouldn't believe everything I heard about the night he died.””
My mouth went dry.
He placed the bottle on the counter.
“So now I have a question.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“Was Andre murdered during a robbery?””
I nodded slowly.
“That's what I was told.””
Marcus studied my face.
“That's not what your mother said.””
At eleven that morning, my mother arrived.
She carried a casserole dish and a large brown envelope.
Marcus was in the nursery changing Andre's diaper when she entered the house.
“Where's my grandson?”” she asked.
“In his room,” I answered.
She placed the dish on the kitchen counter.
Then she looked at my face.
“Have you told him?””
“No.””
My mother closed her eyes.
“Danielle.””
“Don't start.””
“I didn't come here to fight.””
“Then why did you bring that envelope?””
She placed it on the table.
“Because I think you should both know what happened.””
Marcus appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning, Mrs. Brooks.””
“Good morning, Marcus.””
He looked at the envelope.
“What's that?””
My mother pulled out a chair.
“Something I should have given Danielle a long time ago.””
I shook my head.
“Mom, stop.””
She opened the envelope.
Inside were several documents, a newspaper clipping, and a folded handwritten letter.
Marcus looked at the newspaper.
The headline read:
*LOCAL AUTO SHOP EMPLOYEE KILLED DURING LATE-NIGHT ROBBERY.*
He picked it up.
“This is Andre?””
My mother nodded.
Marcus read the article.
Then he looked at me.
“Is this the man in the picture?””
“Yes.””
He placed the newspaper on the table.
My mother unfolded the handwritten letter.
“This came to our house two days after Andre died,” she said.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Why have I never seen that?””
“Because I didn't know what to do with it.””
“Who sent it?””
She looked at me.
“His mother.””
I stared at the envelope.
Andre's mother's handwriting was unmistakable.
I remembered her writing birthday cards for me. She always used blue ink and crossed her lowercase t's with long, careful strokes.
My hands began to shake.
Marcus reached for the letter.
My mother held it back.
“Danielle should read it first.””
I swallowed.
“Give it to me.””
She placed it in my hands.
The paper was yellowed around the edges.
I unfolded it.
There were only six sentences.
Danielle,
Andre loved you more than you will ever know.
There are things about his final night that I have not been able to tell you.
The police asked us not to discuss certain details while the investigation was ongoing.
But I cannot keep this from you forever.
Please come see me when you are ready.
There is something you need to understand about the person who was with Andre before he died.
I read the last sentence twice.
Then a third time.
“Who was with him?”” I whispered.
My mother looked at me.
“That's what I've been trying to tell you.””
Marcus stepped closer.
“Who was it?””
My mother took a breath.
“He wasn't alone that night.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Who was there?””
She looked toward the nursery.
Then back at me.
“Your father.””
I couldn't hear anything for several seconds.
The refrigerator hummed.
The clock ticked.
Somewhere down the hallway, Andre made a small sound in his sleep.
I looked at my mother.
“My father died before I met Andre.””
She nodded.
“I know.””
“Then how could he have been with him?””
My mother pressed her lips together.
“Because your father didn't die when we told you he did.””
I stared at her.
Marcus moved closer to my side.
“What does that mean?””
My mother looked at the newspaper clipping.
“Your father disappeared when you were sixteen. We told you he had died because he had gotten involved with dangerous people. I wanted you to have a normal life.””
I shook my head.
“You told me there had been an accident.””
“I know.””
“You took me to a funeral.””
“There was a closed casket.””
I felt sick.
My mother continued.
“Your father came back into our lives shortly before Andre died. He had been working in another state. He contacted me because he was in trouble.””
Marcus pulled out a chair.
“Why would he be with Andre?””
My mother didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she turned the newspaper clipping over.
There was a photograph printed on the back.
It showed Andre standing outside the auto shop.
Beside him was a man wearing a dark jacket.
The photograph was blurry.
But I recognized the man's posture.
The shape of his shoulders.
The way he tilted his head.
My father.
I backed away from the table.
“No.””
My mother reached for my hand.
“Danielle, listen to me.””
I pulled away.
“No. You're telling me my father was involved in Andre's murder?””
“I'm telling you there is more to the story.””
Marcus looked at the photograph.
“Did the police know?””
My mother nodded.
“They questioned him.””
“And?””
“He disappeared again.””
I stared at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I thought he was dead.””
“That's not an answer!””
My voice cracked.
My mother began crying.
“I was trying to protect you.””
Marcus picked up the letter.
“There's another page.””
We both looked at him.
He unfolded the second sheet.
It had been stuck to the first.
His eyes moved across the writing.
Then his expression changed.
“Danielle.””
“What?””
He handed me the page.
At the bottom was a sentence written in blue ink.
If you ever have a son, please don't let him carry the burden of what happened to Andre.
I stared at the words.
My knees weakened.
Marcus caught my arm.
For the first time since he had found the photograph, he wasn't looking at me with anger.
He was looking at me with fear.
Because the sentence wasn't just a request.
It sounded like a warning.
That afternoon, after my mother left, Marcus and I sat at the kitchen table.
The letter lay between us.
Andre was asleep upstairs.
“I need you to tell me everything,” Marcus said.
I nodded.
“I will.””
“No more leaving pieces out.””
“I promise.””
He leaned back.
“Who was your father?””
I looked at the letter.
“My father was a good man when I was little. He worked construction, took me fishing, and used to sing off-key while making pancakes.””
Marcus listened.
“But when I was sixteen, things changed. He started coming home late. He got into arguments with my mother. There were men calling the house.””
“What kind of men?””
“I don't know. My mother never explained.””
I rubbed my forehead.
“One day, she told me he'd died in an accident. I never saw his body.””
Marcus looked down.
“And you believed her?””
“I was sixteen.””
He nodded.
I continued.
“Years later, when I was with Andre, I mentioned my father once. Andre asked questions. He said he thought he had heard the name before.””
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
“What name?””
“Brooks. My father's name was Raymond Brooks.””
He went still.
“What?””
I repeated it.
“Raymond Brooks.””
Marcus slowly pulled his phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?””
“Something I should have done last night.””
He opened the photograph and zoomed in on Andre's face.
Then he opened another image.
A photograph of a man.
I looked at the screen.
My blood ran cold.
It was my father.
Marcus stared at me.
“Danielle, I think I know why your mother brought that picture here.””
“What do you mean?””
He turned the phone around.
The image was a screenshot from a local news article.
The headline read:
*MISSING MAN CONNECTED TO YEARS-OLD HOMICIDE INVESTIGATION FOUND ALIVE.*
Below it was my father's name.
Raymond Brooks.
And beneath his photograph was a date.
Three days ago.
My hands began trembling.
Marcus whispered, “Your father is alive.””
Then his phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?””
A man's voice came through.
Low.
Calm.
Unmistakably familiar.
“Marcus?””
My husband looked at me.
“Who is this?””
The voice paused.
May you like
Then said five words that made my entire body go cold.
“Tell Danielle her father is here.””
