Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Knew My MotherThe woman didn’t step inside.
She just stood in the doorway.
Rain fell behind her, soaking her old coat.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then she looked at me.
And whispered:
“Emma.”
Hearing my name from her felt strange.
Too familiar.
Like a memory I couldn’t reach.
I looked at Dad.
He didn’t stop her.
That scared me more than anything.
The woman walked inside slowly.
She placed the flowers on the table.
“I brought these every year,” she said.
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
She looked at the photograph.
“Because your mother loved white roses.”
I stared at her.
“Who are you?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“My name is Claire.”
She touched the old photograph.
“I was there the night your mother disappeared.”
The room went quiet.
I stood.
“You saw her?”
Claire nodded.
“Every detail.”
“Then tell me.”
My voice broke.
“Tell me what happened to my mother.”
Claire looked at my father.
“Are you finally going to let her know everything?”
Dad looked away.
Claire sighed.
“She deserves the truth.”
She sat down.
“Your mother discovered that someone had been using your father’s name to move money.”
Dad nodded.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know,” Claire said.
“She knew too.”
I looked at Dad.
“Then why did she leave?”
Claire’s hands tightened around the flowers.
“Because the person behind it found out she knew.”
“Who?”
Claire looked at Linda.
And Linda started crying.
I already knew.
Before Claire even said the name.
“Your grandfather.”
Linda’s father.
The man I barely remembered.
The man who died when I was young.
I whispered:
“But he’s gone.”
Claire nodded.
“He is.”
“Then why are we still afraid?”
Nobody answered.
Claire reached into her bag.
She pulled out an old notebook.
“This belonged to your mother.”
My heart raced.
I touched the cover.
“What is this?”
“Everything she discovered.”
I opened it.
Pages filled with handwriting.
Dates.
Names.
Numbers.
Then one page caught my attention.
A name circled in red.
Not my grandfather.
Not some stranger.
Someone else.
Someone alive.
My hands went cold.
“Who is this?”
Dad stepped closer.
His face changed when he saw the name.
“Impossible.”
I looked at him.
“Who is it?”
He didn’t answer.
Claire did.
“The person who made sure your mother could never come home.”
I stared at the page.
The name looked impossible.
Because it belonged to someone I trusted.
Someone who had hugged me.
Someone who had told me they loved me.
Someone who had raised me.
My voice barely came out.
“Linda?”
The color drained from her face.
“No.”
But she didn’t sound offended.
She sounded terrified.
“Emma, listen to me.”
I stepped back.
“Were you involved?”
“No.”
“Then why is your name in my mother’s notebook?”
Linda looked at my father.
And that was when I saw it.
Fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
“There’s something you don’t understand,” she whispered.
“What?”
She looked at the notebook.
Then at me.
“Your mother didn’t write that name because that person hurt her.”
I waited.
“She wrote it because she knew that person was the next target.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Before Linda could answer, Claire’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her face immediately changed.
“What?”
Dad stood.
“What happened?”
Claire slowly lowered the phone.
“She found us.”
The room went silent.
“Who found us?” I asked.
Claire looked at me.
May you like
And her answer made my entire body go cold.
“The person your mother spent twenty years protecting you from.”
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