Chapter 7: The Night Nobody Wanted to Remember
The message stayed on my father’s phone for exactly seven seconds.
Seven seconds was enough time for a lifetime of memories to rearrange themselves.
My mother’s laugh.
My father sitting beside her hospital bed.
The night he told me she was gone.
The funeral.
The empty chair at every holiday dinner.
All of it suddenly had a question mark hanging over it.
I looked at Patrice.
She looked back at me.
And for the first time since I had known her, she looked like someone who was afraid of being seen.
“Amara,” Leon said quietly.
I didn’t look away from Patrice.
“Ask her.””
Nobody moved.
My father stepped forward.
“Amara, this isn’t how we should—”
“No.””
My voice surprised even me.
“No more waiting. No more protecting people. No more telling me I’m too young, too emotional, or that I don’t understand.””
I held up his phone.
“Someone thinks Patrice knows something about the night my mother died.””
Patrice’s expression hardened.
“And you believe a random message?””
I stared at her.
“I believe your reaction.””
“My reaction?””
“Yes.””
She laughed once.
A cold, humorless laugh.
“You’ve already decided I’m guilty.””
“I haven’t decided anything.””
I looked at the letter in my other hand.
“But everybody in this house keeps acting like there’s something I’m not allowed to know.””
Evelyn stood near the door, silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
My father ran a hand through his gray beard.
“Patrice.””
She turned to him.
“What?””
“Tell her.””
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“Leon.””
“Tell her what happened.””
The room became completely still.
I looked between them.
My father had finally chosen a side.
Not mine.
Not Patrice’s.
The truth.
Or at least I hoped.
Patrice walked toward the kitchen slowly.
She looked older with every step.
She placed both hands on the counter.
“Your mother was sick for a long time.””
I nodded.
“I know.””
“No, you know the version everyone gave you.””
My chest tightened.
“What does that mean?””
Patrice looked at me.
“Your mother knew she was dying.””
The words felt cruel.
But not because they were new.
Because they sounded like the beginning of something worse.
“She was scared,” Patrice continued.
“She was angry. She didn’t want to leave you. She didn’t want to leave Leon.””
I swallowed.
“That doesn’t explain anything.””
“No.””
She looked down.
“It doesn’t.””
The silence stretched.
Then she said:
“The night she died, she called me.””
My heart stopped.
“You?””
Patrice nodded.
“Why?””
She looked toward Leon.
“I was the last person she spoke to before the ambulance came.””
I stared.
My father had never told me that.
Never.
“Why would my mother call you?””
Patrice hesitated.
“Because she needed help.””
“What kind of help?””
Patrice’s eyes moved toward Evelyn.
And Evelyn looked away.
That small movement bothered me.
“What happened?”” I asked.
Patrice took a breath.
“Your mother thought someone was stealing from her.””
My stomach tightened.
“Stealing what?””
“Money.””
Again.
The same accusation.
The same shadow following my mother.
“She believed I was involved.””
I looked at her.
“Were you?””
Patrice didn’t answer immediately.
That pause felt like an earthquake.
Then she whispered:
“No.””
The word came too softly.
I didn’t know if I believed it.
“What happened that night?””
Patrice closed her eyes.
“I went to your parents’ house because your mother called me. She was upset. She had found documents she didn’t understand.””
“What documents?””
“She wouldn’t show me.””
“Why?””
“Because she thought I was part of it.””
I looked at my father.
“Dad?””
He looked miserable.
“I knew she was upset.””
“But?””
“But I thought it was the medication. The stress.””
My voice became sharper.
“You thought your dying wife was confused?””
His face fell.
“I was wrong.””
That was the first time he admitted it.
Out loud.
Evelyn stepped forward.
“No. You were afraid.””
Leon looked at her.
“Don’t.””
“You were afraid because your wife discovered the truth.””
My father’s expression changed.
“What truth?””
Evelyn looked at me.
“Your mother wasn’t investigating Patrice.””
The room froze.
“She was investigating your father.””
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“What?””
Patrice looked shocked.
Even she didn’t know.
Evelyn continued.
“Your mother believed someone was hiding money from her. She thought Patrice was helping Leon.””
I looked at my father.
He shook his head immediately.
“No.””
“Then why did she write this?””
Evelyn pointed at the letter.
My father had no answer.
I looked down.
The words blurred.
My mother had spent her final days afraid.
And everyone had let me believe she left peacefully.
“Dad.””
He looked at me.
“Did you hide money from Mom?””
His face collapsed.
“No.””
The answer came instantly.
But there was pain behind it.
Not guilt.
Something else.
Regret.
“I didn’t hide money from her.””
“Then what did you hide?””
Nobody answered.
I felt my hands shaking.
The house became unbearable.
I walked toward the hallway.
“Amara.””
I ignored him.
I needed air.
I needed distance.
But when I reached the front door, I noticed something.
A small scratch beside the new lock.
Fresh.
Not old.
I touched it.
Someone had damaged the wood around the lock.
Like they had tried to force their way in.
I turned around.
“Patrice.””
She looked at me.
“When did you change the locks?””
“Three weeks ago.””
I pointed at the scratch.
“Then why does this look newer?””
Nobody spoke.
My father came closer.
His face changed when he saw it.
Because he noticed something else.
A tiny piece of paper stuck beneath the door.
He bent down.
Picked it up.
Opened it.
Then his face turned pale.
“What?””
He handed it to me.
May you like
Three words were written on the paper.
*YOU’RE NEXT, AMARA.*