Chapter 5: The Daughter I Never Met
The photograph slipped from my fingers and landed on the desk.
I picked it up again.
Rebecca looked younger than I remembered, her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, her face exhausted but peaceful. The baby in her arms was wrapped tightly in a pink blanket.
On the back, she'd written one name.
Lily.
Not a surname.
Not a date of birth.
Just Lily.
I stared at the picture until the edges blurred.
“Is this your daughter?”” Officer Brooks asked.
“I don't know.””
The answer sounded pathetic, even to me.
I turned the photograph over again.
There was something familiar about the baby's face, though I knew that was impossible. She had my broad forehead, my mother's deep-set eyes, and the tiny crease between her eyebrows that appeared whenever she was upset.
I had seen that crease on the Lily I raised a thousand times.
For a moment, I was back in the hospital nursery eight years earlier, looking down at my newborn daughter through the glass.
Danielle had been asleep after a difficult delivery. I had stood beside the incubator, crying quietly because I couldn't believe something so small had trusted me with its entire life.
I had promised that baby I would always protect her.
I had broken that promise in ways I was only beginning to understand.
Officer Brooks pulled a chair closer.
“Let's establish what we know. Rebecca told you she was pregnant nine years ago. You didn't confirm the pregnancy.
You received this letter, but you never opened it. Now someone has contacted you and referred to a child connected to Rebecca.””
I nodded.
“And we have a photograph of an infant named Lily.””
“Yes.””
“Do you have any reason to believe Rebecca had another child after that?””
“No.””
“Do you know whether she ever returned to Georgia?””
“No.””
Officer Brooks paused.
“Then we need to be careful about drawing conclusions. The photograph is important, but it doesn't establish who the child is or what happened to her.””
I knew she was right.
But reason had little power over the fear growing inside me.
“What if Rebecca had a daughter?”” I asked.
“Then we find out.””
“What if she tried to contact me?””
“We find out.””
“What if the daughter knew my Lily?””
Officer Brooks held my gaze.
“Then we find out how.””
Her calmness was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
I unfolded the letter.
The paper had yellowed along the creases. Rebecca's handwriting slanted sharply to the right, just as it had when she used to leave notes on my refrigerator.
The first line read:
Marcus, I'm not writing this to ask you to love me.
I stopped.
My throat tightened.
The next line was worse.
I'm writing because there's a little girl in this world who deserves to know who her father is.
I pressed my hand against the desk.
Officer Brooks waited.
I continued reading silently.
Rebecca had written that she'd given birth to a daughter. She said the baby was healthy, that she had named her Lily, and that she had spent months trying to decide whether to contact me.
She described the baby's tiny fingers, the way she slept with one fist tucked beneath her chin, and how she had cried the first time she heard a heartbeat through a doctor's monitor.
Then came the sentence that made me stop breathing.
I know you're going to tell yourself I did this to hurt you. I didn't. I wanted you to have the choice I never had when my own father left.
I lowered the page.
I had spent years telling myself Rebecca was manipulative.
That she'd invented the pregnancy to punish me.
That blocking her number had been the only sensible decision.
But she had written this letter after the baby was born.
She had included a photograph.
She had given me a chance to know my daughter.
And I had never even opened the envelope.
“There's more,” Officer Brooks said gently.
I looked down.
The final paragraph was written in smaller handwriting, as though Rebecca had run out of space.
If you don't want to be part of her life, I won't force you. But please don't tell yourself she doesn't exist. One day, she may come looking for you. If she does, I hope you'll be brave enough to answer.
At the bottom was a phone number.
It was the same number that had sent the messages.
My fingers began to shake again.
“Officer Brooks.””
She leaned forward.
I showed her the number.
She compared it with the number on my phone.
Her expression grew more serious.
“This is consistent with the number that contacted you today.””
“Can we call it?””
“We can discuss the appropriate way to proceed. Given the circumstances, I'd prefer that we document the messages and have the investigators contact the number rather than responding impulsively.””
I nodded.
Then I heard footsteps behind us.
Danielle appeared in the doorway.
She had been crying again. Her eyes were swollen, and she held Lily's framed photograph against her chest.
“What did you find?””
I looked at the letter.
“Rebecca had a baby.””
Danielle didn't move.
I forced myself to continue.
“She named her Lily.””
For several seconds, Danielle stared at me as if she hadn't understood the words.
Then she looked down at the photograph in her hands.
“Our Lily?””
“No. Another child.””
“How long have you known?””
“I just found out.””
“You had a child with another woman before we met, and you never knew?””
“I suspected it might be possible.””
Danielle closed her eyes.
“You suspected?””
“I didn't know if the baby was mine.””
“But you knew Rebecca said she was pregnant.””
“Yes.””
“And you never told me.””
“No.””
She looked toward the desk, where the photograph lay.
“Why?””
I searched for an answer that didn't make me sound like a coward.
There wasn't one.
“Because I was afraid she'd be right about me,” I said.
“I was afraid I'd become my father. I was afraid I'd have to give up the life I wanted before I even knew what that life was.””
Danielle's eyes filled.
“So you made the decision for everyone.””
I nodded.
“You decided Rebecca didn't deserve an answer. You decided a child didn't deserve a father. And you decided I didn't deserve to know what kind of man I married.””
Her voice broke on the final word.
I reached toward her.
She stepped back.
“Don't.””
My hand fell.
“I am sorry.””
“I know you are.””
She looked at me with a sadness that frightened me more than anger.
“But being sorry doesn't give you back the years you took from people.””
She set Lily's photograph on the corner of the desk.
For a moment, I thought she was going to leave.
Instead, she sat down.
“Tell me about Rebecca.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
“Because if she has a child connected to our daughter, I need to know everything you remember.””
I swallowed.
“Rebecca was kind. Funny. Stubborn. She wanted a family more than anything.””
Danielle gave a bitter smile.
“And you thought she was lying about having one.””
“Yes.””
“What happened between you?””
I stared at the letter.
“I got a promotion. I started traveling. She wanted us to settle down.
I wanted to see how far I could go in my career. We fought about money, about marriage, about whether I was ever going to be home.””
I paused.
“One night, she told me she was pregnant. I accused her of making it up because she knew I'd been thinking about leaving.””
Danielle shook her head.
“You don't get to call that a misunderstanding.””
“I know.””
“What did you say to her?””
I couldn't look at Danielle.
“I told her that if the baby existed, it wasn't my problem until she could prove it.””
Danielle covered her mouth.
I continued, because stopping would only make the truth more difficult to bear.
“She cried. She said she hoped I never had a daughter who needed me. Then she left.””
The words hung in the room.
Danielle stared at me.
“Did she know about our Lily?””
“I don't know.””
“Could she have found out?””
“Yes.””
“Could she have contacted her?””
“I don't know.””
Danielle looked toward Officer Brooks.
“Can we find Rebecca?””
“We'll need to follow the available evidence,” the officer said.
“The number, the account records, and any relevant communications may help establish who contacted Lily and why.””
Danielle nodded slowly.
Then she turned back to me.
“If Rebecca had a daughter, that child is innocent in all of this.””
“I know.””
“And if she was trying to contact Lily, she might have believed she was reaching out to her sister.””
I looked at Danielle.
The possibility had not occurred to me.
Two little girls named Lily.
One growing up in our house, believing she was an only child.
Another growing up somewhere else, perhaps hearing stories about a father who had refused to acknowledge her.
If they had found each other, they might have been curious.
They might have wanted to know whether they looked alike.
They might have wanted to share the same birthday cake, the same favorite song, the same stories about a father neither of them fully understood.
And then someone had sent a message telling one of them not to call again.
A message that had arrived just as our daughter was fighting for her life.
My phone vibrated.
Officer Brooks looked at the screen.
Another message.
*SHE FOUND THE PHOTOGRAPH BEFORE SHE GOT SICK.*
Danielle inhaled sharply.
I typed nothing.
A second message arrived.
*SHE WANTED TO MEET HER SISTER.*
I felt the room shift around me.
Sister.
The word was so small.
So ordinary.
Yet it opened a hole in everything I thought I knew about my family.
Danielle pressed a hand to her chest.
“Our Lily knew?””
“I don't know.””
But the messages suggested she did.
Or that someone wanted us to believe she did.
Officer Brooks asked me to keep the phone visible while she documented the incoming messages.
Then the unknown number began calling.
I stared at the screen.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Should I answer?”” I asked.
Officer Brooks considered it.
“Put it on speaker. Don't make promises or accusations. Let the caller identify themselves.””
I accepted the call.
“Hello?””
At first, there was only breathing.
Then a woman's voice whispered, “Marcus?””
My knees weakened.
I knew that voice.
Nine years had passed, but I would have recognized it anywhere.
“Rebecca?””
A sharp breath came through the speaker.
“I told you she would come looking for you.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Where are you?””
“That doesn't matter right now.””
“It matters to me.””
“No, Marcus. What matters is that you listen for once in your life.””
Danielle stared at the phone.
Officer Brooks leaned closer, silently signaling me to keep the caller talking.
I swallowed.
“What happened to Lily?””
Rebecca went quiet.
Then she said, “Which Lily?””
I closed my eyes.
“Our daughter.””
A broken laugh came through the speaker.
“You mean the daughter you raised? Or the daughter you refused to acknowledge?””
I couldn't speak.
Rebecca continued, her voice trembling with anger.
“My daughter is alive, Marcus. She's been alive all these years. And she never stopped asking about you.””
I gripped the desk.
“Where is she?””
“Safe.””
“Then why are you contacting me about our Lily?””
A long silence followed.
When Rebecca spoke again, her voice had changed.
“She was supposed to meet her sister on Friday.””
My heart stopped.
“Meet her where?””
“That's what I'm trying to find out.””
I looked at Officer Brooks.
She had gone very still.
Rebecca took a shaky breath.
“Marcus, I didn't send that message to Lily. I didn't tell her not to call you. But someone knew those girls had found each other.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
“Then why did you say you knew what happened to my daughter?””
“Because I received a message the same afternoon she died.””
“What did it say?””
Rebecca hesitated.
Then she whispered, “It said that if I ever tried to bring my daughter into your life, I would lose her forever.””
Danielle gripped the edge of the desk.
Officer Brooks began writing rapidly.
I could barely hear my own voice.
“Who sent it?””
Rebecca's answer came slowly.
“I think it was someone who has been in your house.””
I turned toward the hallway.
Vanessa was gone.
The front door stood open.
And on the desk, beside Rebecca's letter, lay a small cream-colored envelope that hadn't been there when I entered the study.
My name was written across the front.
May you like
Beneath it were six words.
*YOUR DAUGHTER KNEW WHO KILLED HER.*