Chapter 13: The Friend Who Was Never Family
Thomas had been part of my life for as long as I could remember.
That was the part that hurt the most.
Not the threats.
Not the secrets.
Not even the lies.
It was the fact that the person who might have destroyed my family was someone I never thought to question.
Uncle Thomas.
That was what I called him.
Not because he was related to us.
Because my father said family wasn’t always made by blood.
I remembered him showing up at my childhood birthday parties with oversized gifts.
I remembered him teaching me how to throw a baseball in the backyard.
I remembered him standing beside my father at my mother’s funeral.
A man who looked like he was grieving with us.
A man who may have been the reason we were grieving at all.
“Call him.””
My voice was quiet.
My father looked at me.
“No.””
I stared.
“No?””
Leon shook his head.
“Not yet.””
I almost laughed.
“Dad, that is exactly what you’ve been saying for years.””
He looked down.
And I immediately regretted how much pain was in his face.
But I couldn’t stop.
“I need answers.””
“So do I.””
The room became silent.
That was the first time my father admitted it.
He didn’t know.
The strongest man I had ever known was standing in his own house, surrounded by evidence, realizing he had spent years living beside a mystery.
Evelyn sat on the couch.
Her earlier confidence was gone.
“I need to tell you something else.””
Everyone looked at her.
My father’s expression hardened.
“What?””
She swallowed.
“The night your mother died, Thomas was there.””
My chest tightened.
“You said Patrice was there.””
“She was.””
“Then Thomas was too?””
Evelyn nodded.
“But he left before the ambulance arrived.””
“Why?””
She looked away.
“Because your mother asked him to.””
That made no sense.
“My mother asked the man she didn’t trust to stay?””
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.””
She looked at me.
“She trusted him.””
The words landed like a punch.
“Then why did she write that someone betrayed her?””
Nobody answered.
I looked at the journal.
The pages suddenly felt heavier.
“Maybe she was wrong about everyone.””
My father looked at me.
“Your mother wasn’t perfect.””
The sentence surprised me.
Because it was the first time someone admitted that without using it as a weapon.
“She made mistakes,” he continued.
“But she was smart.””
He picked up the photo.
“She knew something was wrong.””
Patrice stepped forward.
“Leon.””
He looked at her.
“I owe Amara the truth.””
The way he said it made me realize something.
He wasn’t talking to Patrice.
He was talking to himself.
“I should have asked more questions.””
Nobody spoke.
Then my father walked toward the office desk.
He opened the bottom drawer again.
This time, he pulled out a small black notebook.
“I found this after she died.””
My heart raced.
“What is it?””
“Thomas’s.””
Everyone froze.
“You had his notebook?””
Leon nodded.
“I thought it belonged to my wife.””
“Why?””
“Because it was in her office.””
He opened it.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Dates.
Names.
Numbers.
My father flipped through the pages.
Then stopped.
His face changed.
“What?””
He handed it to me.
One page was marked with a date.
The date was three days before my mother died.
At the top was a name.
*AMARA.*
My stomach dropped.
Below it were words written in Thomas’s handwriting.
*If Leon refuses, the daughter becomes the pressure point.*
I stopped breathing.
“What does that mean?””
My father took the notebook.
His hands shook.
“It means he was planning something.””
Patrice covered her mouth.
Evelyn whispered:
“Oh my God.””
I looked at my father.
“Planning what?””
He didn’t answer.
Because the truth was already forming.
A person doesn’t write something like that unless they intend to use it.
A person doesn’t target a daughter unless they know exactly where to hurt someone.
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
This time, from the unknown number.
I opened it.
*You’re getting closer. Stop before you learn what your father did.*
I showed everyone.
My father stared.
“He knows.””
“Who?””
“Whoever has been sending these messages.””
Patrice looked at him.
“Maybe Thomas.””
Leon shook his head.
“No.””
“Why not?””
His answer was immediate.
“Because Thomas would never threaten Amara.””
The room went quiet.
I looked at him.
“You still believe him?””
My father didn’t answer.
That hurt more than anger.
Because part of him still loved the person who might have destroyed us.
Then Evelyn stood.
“There’s one more place we need to look.””
“Where?””
She looked toward the office.
“Your mother’s old hiding place.””
I frowned.
“My mother had a hiding place?””
Leon looked confused.
“She never told me.””
Evelyn nodded.
“She didn’t tell anyone.””
“Then how do you know?””
Evelyn’s face changed.
“Because I helped her create it.””
The room froze.
“You and my mother had secrets?””
She looked at me.
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because your mother didn’t trust anyone.””
A painful pause.
“Not even your father.””
That sentence hurt.
But I needed to hear it.
“Where is it?””
Evelyn walked toward the bookshelf.
She touched the old wooden frame.
Then pressed against one corner.
A small click echoed.
Behind the bookshelf, a hidden compartment opened.
Nobody moved.
Inside was a small metal box.
My father whispered:
“I never knew.””
Evelyn reached inside.
But before she touched the box, a sound came from outside.
A car door slammed.
Everyone froze.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming toward the front porch.
My father looked toward the window.
His face went pale.
May you like
Because he recognized the person standing outside.
“Thomas.””