Chapter 3: The Uncle Who Came to Every Funeral
Thomas didn't remember sitting down.
One moment he was standing beside the coffee table, staring at Denise as if the room had split open beneath his feet. The next, he was gripping the sofa arm, unable to make his legs support him.
Marcus.
His younger brother.
The boy who had slept beside him during thunderstorms. The man who had carried Evelyn's coffin. The uncle who brought Ryan a birthday cake every year and stood beside Thomas at Amelia's memorial service, even though there had never been a body to bury.
For twenty-two years, Marcus had told him to keep hoping.
For twenty-two years, Marcus had watched him suffer.
And now Denise was saying he had arranged for Amelia to disappear.
“Tell me you're wrong,” Thomas said.
Denise wiped her cheeks.
“I wish I were.””
“Marcus loved that little girl.””
“He loved something about her,” Denise replied.
“I don't know if it was love. I only know he wanted her hidden.””
Thomas shook his head.
“You're making an accusation against my brother based on a man you saw once.””
“No,” Denise said.
“I'm telling you what happened to the child I raised.””
Jasmine stood abruptly.
“Enough.””
Everyone turned toward her.
She had gone very pale, but her voice was steady.
“I've spent my entire life thinking Denise was my biological mother. Now I find out she isn't. I find out I might have been kidnapped. And you're all standing here arguing about who loved me.””
She looked directly at Thomas.
“I need to know who I am.””
Thomas's expression crumpled.
“You're right.””
He reached for the photograph and held it out to her.
“This is all I can give you right now. A picture of a little girl who might be you.””
Jasmine took it carefully.
The child in the photograph was smiling at someone outside the frame, her small hand wrapped around a man's finger.
Jasmine traced the edge of the picture without touching the faded image.
“Did you take this?””
Thomas nodded.
“She was trying to feed me a biscuit. She'd taken one bite, decided she didn't like it, and pushed the rest into my mouth.””
A faint, broken laugh escaped him.
“Your mother told me not to encourage her because she'd start doing it to everyone.””
Jasmine stared at the little girl's face.
Then she looked at Denise.
“Why did you tell me you found me outside a church if Marcus paid you to hide me?””
Denise drew in a trembling breath.
“Because I was terrified. I was twenty-six, working two jobs, and trying to get Nicole back from foster care. I couldn't afford to fight a man with money and connections. I thought if I kept you safe and never asked questions, he'd leave us alone.””
“You raised me for twenty-three years.””
“Yes.””
“You loved me.””
“With every breath I have.””
“Then why did you keep lying?””
Denise lowered her head.
“Because every year that passed made the truth harder to tell. When you were little, I thought I'd tell you when you were old enough. When you were a teenager, I was afraid you'd hate me. When you became an adult, I convinced myself that digging up the past would only hurt you.””
Jasmine's eyes shone.
“You didn't get to decide that for me.””
“No,” Denise whispered.
“I didn't.””
Thomas paced to the window and back.
“What exactly did Marcus pay you to do?””
Denise opened the yellowed envelope again.
Inside lay a folded letter, a bank deposit slip, and a small card with a handwritten phone number.
“I received money every month for the first two years,” she said.
“After that, it stopped. I was told not to contact him unless someone came asking questions.””
Thomas stared at the deposit slip.
The account number was unfamiliar, but the bank stamp was not.
It belonged to the financial institution that handled Carter Construction's payroll.
Ryan leaned over the table.
“That's our company's bank.””
Thomas picked up the slip.
“Marcus was managing the business when Amelia disappeared.””
“Was?”” Ryan asked.
“He still is,” Thomas said quietly.
“He's the chief financial officer.””
Ryan looked sick.
“Uncle Marcus has been in our house every Thanksgiving.””
“And every Christmas,” Thomas replied.
Jasmine set the photograph down.
“Could there be another Marcus Carter?””
Thomas shook his head.
“No.””
Denise unfolded the letter.
“I kept this because I thought it might help prove I wasn't involved in whatever happened before I found Jasmine.””
Thomas reached for it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was short.
Continue caring for the child. Do not contact the family. If anyone asks, you found her alone. You will receive further instructions.
There was no signature.
Only a typed set of initials at the bottom.
M.C.
Ryan stared at the paper.
“This could be forged.””
“Yes,” Thomas said.
“It could.””
He sounded almost grateful for the possibility.
“Which is why we don't accuse anyone until we have proof.””
Jasmine looked at him.
“How do we get proof?””
“A DNA test first. Then we find out who sent that letter.””
Denise nodded.
“There may be more.””
Thomas turned toward her.
“More what?””
“The woman who brought Jasmine to the church gave me something else. I never told Marcus about it.””
Denise reached into the lining of her handbag and carefully pulled out a tiny plastic pouch.
Inside was a brass key.
Its surface was tarnished, and a small white tag had been tied around its head.
Thomas leaned closer.
The tag bore a handwritten number.
*317.*
Ryan frowned.
“What does that open?””
“I don't know,” Denise said.
“The woman told me to keep it somewhere safe. She said it might matter if Jasmine ever needed to know the truth.””
Thomas turned the key over in his fingers.
A memory flickered.
A storage facility outside Savannah. A row of numbered units. A locked room where Evelyn had kept old documents before the family moved back to Atlanta.
He looked at Denise.
“Did the woman give you a name?””
Denise shook her head.
“No. But I remember something about her.””
“What?””
“She was crying when she handed me the baby. She kept saying she was sorry.””
Thomas's throat tightened.
“Sorry for what?””
Denise looked at Jasmine.
“She said, 'Tell her one day that her mother never stopped fighting for her.''”
Jasmine pressed a hand against her chest.
Thomas shut his eyes.
Evelyn had spent the last twenty years of her life looking for Amelia. She had hired investigators, followed false leads, and driven through towns across three states because someone claimed to have seen a little girl with a silver necklace.
Near the end, she had become ill.
Even then, she had kept a folder beside her bed containing every letter, photograph, and lead connected to their missing daughter.
Thomas had believed his wife died without ever knowing what happened to Amelia.
Now he wasn't sure what he believed.
He opened his eyes and looked at the key.
“We're going to find out what this opens.””
Ryan pulled out his phone.
“I'll call Marcus and tell him we need to talk.””
“No,” Thomas said sharply.
Ryan froze.
“Why not?””
“Because if he's responsible, he'll know immediately that something has changed. We need to be careful.””
Ryan's jaw tightened.
“So we just pretend everything is normal?””
“For now.””
Jasmine picked up the photograph again.
“I want the DNA test done today.””
Thomas nodded.
“I'll arrange it.””
“And I want access to every document your family has about Amelia.””
“You'll have it.””
“And if the results say I'm not your daughter?””
Thomas looked directly at her.
“Then I'll apologize for frightening you, and we'll find out why you have that necklace.””
Jasmine studied his face for a long moment.
“Okay.””
For the first time since entering the house, she looked at him without fear.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But a willingness to listen.
Ryan stepped beside her.
“Whatever happens, we do this together.””
Jasmine glanced at him.
“Are you sure?””
He swallowed.
“No. But I'm not leaving you to deal with it alone.””
She reached for his hand, and he held it gently.
Thomas watched them, pain gathering behind his eyes.
He had spent years worrying that Amelia might have grown up believing her family had abandoned her.
Now the possibility was worse.
She might have grown up believing someone else was her mother because the people who should have protected her had failed.
A sudden buzz came from Thomas's phone.
He looked at the screen.
*MARCUS CARTER CALLING.*
Everyone went silent.
Ryan stared at the phone.
“That's impossible. I haven't called him.””
Thomas answered but said nothing.
“Tom?”” Marcus's cheerful voice filled the room.
“You there, brother?””
Thomas forced his voice to remain steady.
“I'm here.””
“Good. I've been trying to reach you. There's a problem with the company accounts, and I need your signature on something before the board meeting tomorrow.””
Thomas glanced at the deposit slip on the table.
“What kind of problem?””
“A boring one. I'll explain when I see you.””
A pause followed.
Then Marcus's voice changed slightly.
“Is Ryan there?””
Thomas looked at his son.
“Yes.””
“And is he alone?””
Ryan's face hardened.
Thomas tightened his grip on the phone.
“Why are you asking?””
Marcus laughed softly.
“No reason. I just thought I'd invite him to dinner. It's been too long since we've all sat down together.””
Thomas stared at the photograph.
“Actually, Marcus, I have something I'd like to ask you.””
“Of course. What is it?””
Thomas took a slow breath.
“Do you remember Amelia's silver necklace?””
Silence.
Not a dropped connection.
Not background noise.
Silence long enough for Thomas to hear his brother breathing.
Then Marcus answered.
“Why would you bring that up after all these years?””
Thomas felt his blood run cold.
“Because I think I've found her.””
The silence returned.
When Marcus finally spoke, the warmth had vanished from his voice.
“Tom, listen to me very carefully.””
Thomas tightened his fingers around the phone.
“What?””
“If that girl is wearing the necklace, don't let her leave your house.””
A chill ran through the room.
Thomas stared at Jasmine.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Because the last person who tried to bring Amelia home…”
He stopped.
Thomas's heart hammered.
“Who, Marcus?””
His brother exhaled shakily.
May you like
Then he whispered, “The woman who found her is dead.””
And the call ended.