Chapter 3: The Letter My Stepmother Said Never Existed
I was halfway down the stairs when I heard my mother's name.
“Ask Madison what happened to her mother's last letter.””
I stopped behind the banister.
Dad stood in the hallway, his phone hanging at his side. Claire was beside the front door with a small suitcase, her coat draped over one arm.
Neither of them had noticed me.
“What letter?”” Dad asked.
Claire smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
“Interesting. You don't even know.””
“Claire, if you know something about my wife's belongings, tell me now.””
“Your wife left plenty of belongings behind. You packed most of them away without looking.””
“I asked you a question.””
“And I answered it. There was a letter.””
Dad stared at her.
“From who?””
Claire adjusted the strap of her handbag.
“From your first wife. To Madison.””
My fingers tightened around the banister.
Mom had been gone for three years, but I still kept a small wooden box beneath my bed. Inside were her photographs, a ribbon from her favorite dress, and a birthday card she'd given me shortly before she died.
I had never heard of a letter.
Dad's voice dropped.
“Where is it?””
Claire looked toward the stairs.
That's when she saw me.
For a split second, her expression changed. Then she smiled as if nothing had happened.
“There she is,” she said.
“Perhaps she can tell us.””
Dad turned and saw me.
“Madison? Sweetheart, you should be in bed.””
I came down two steps.
“What letter?””
Claire crossed her arms.
“Your mother wrote you something before she died.””
Dad's face tightened.
“Stop talking about this until we know what actually happened.””
“But she deserves to know, doesn't she?”” Claire asked.
“After all, it concerns her.””
I looked at Dad.
“Did Mom write me a letter?””
He shook his head slowly.
“Not that I know of, sweetheart.””
Claire let out a short laugh.
“Of course you don't.””
Dad stepped toward her.
“Where is it?””
“Somewhere safe.””
“Give it to me.””
“Not tonight.””
He stared at her for several seconds.
Then he took a breath.
“Fine. You can leave tonight. Tomorrow, we'll contact our attorney, and you'll explain everything you know about that letter.””
Claire's smile disappeared.
“You'd bring lawyers into this?””
“You've just told me that you may have withheld a letter from my dead wife that was meant for my daughter. Yes, Claire. I will bring lawyers into this.””
She looked at me again.
“You should ask your father why your mother kept secrets from him.””
Dad moved between us.
“Enough.””
Claire picked up her suitcase.
“Don't say I didn't warn you.””
The front door shut behind her.
The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.
For a few seconds, Dad remained still, staring at the door.
Then he turned to me.
“Come sit with me.””
We went to the living room. The birthday decorations were still hanging above the fireplace. Someone had left a pink balloon tied to a chair, and it drifted gently whenever the heating came on.
Dad sat beside me.
“Madison, I need you to tell me something. Have you ever seen a letter from your mother?””
I shook my head.
“Not a letter. But I have her box.””
“What box?””
I ran upstairs and returned with the little wooden box I'd hidden under my bed.
The lid had a painted sunflower on it. Mom had bought it at a craft fair, and she'd let me choose the design.
Dad opened it carefully.
Inside were three photographs, a faded blue ribbon, a birthday card, and a folded drawing I'd made when I was four.
He picked up the card.
On the front, Mom had written my name in her rounded handwriting.
For my beautiful Madison.
Dad's thumb moved over the words.
“I remember this,” he whispered.
“She gave it to you on your fifth birthday.””
I nodded.
“I read it when I miss her.””
He opened the card.
The message inside was short.
My sweet girl, if you ever feel small, remember that you are loved more than you can imagine. You never have to earn the love of the people who truly care about you.
Dad stopped reading.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he kissed the top of my head.
“Your mother knew exactly what she wanted you to understand.””
I looked at the card.
“Do you think she wrote another one?””
“It's possible.””
“Why wouldn't you know?””
He stared at the photograph in his hand.
“Because after your mother died, I was barely keeping myself together. I went back to work too soon. I thought making sure you had a home, clothes, and everything you needed was enough.””
He swallowed.
“And when I married Claire, I thought I was giving you someone who could be here when I couldn't.””
“Did you make a mistake?””
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Dad looked at me.
“I may have made a terrible mistake by not paying attention. But you were never a mistake, Madison. Not for one second.””
I leaned against him.
We sat quietly until my eyes began to close.
He carried me upstairs again and stayed beside me until I fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke to the smell of pancakes.
For one disorienting moment, I thought everything had gone back to normal.
Then I remembered the birthday cake, the security videos, and Claire's suitcase.
I pulled on a sweater and went downstairs.
Dad was standing at the stove, wearing the same shirt he'd traveled home in.
A stack of pancakes sat on a plate beside him.
“Good morning, birthday girl.””
“My birthday was yesterday.””
“I know. But you didn't get to celebrate properly.””
He put a strawberry on top of the pancake stack.
“Today, we're doing it right.””
I smiled despite myself.
“Can I have chocolate syrup?””
He grinned.
“You can have chocolate syrup, whipped cream, strawberries, and whatever else you want. Within reason.””
I laughed.
It was the first real laugh I'd had since the party.
We ate at the kitchen island. Dad let me pour too much syrup, and neither of us cared when a little dripped onto the counter.
After breakfast, he called his attorney.
I sat at the other end of the living room, drawing pictures while he spoke in a low voice.
“Yes, I have the recordings.””
A pause.
“No, she hasn't returned.””
Another pause.
“And there's a letter. Apparently, my late wife wrote one to Madison, and Claire claims she has it.””
He listened for a long time.
Then he said, “I understand. Don't contact her directly yet. Let's do this properly.””
When he hung up, I put down my crayons.
“Are you going to find Mom's letter?””
Dad came and sat beside me.
“Yes.””
“What if it's bad?””
He took my hand.
“Then we'll face whatever it says together.””
I wanted to believe him, but something about Claire's words frightened me.
She hadn't sounded like someone making up a story.
She'd sounded like someone who knew a secret and had been waiting for the right moment to use it.
That afternoon, Dad began checking the filing cabinet in his home office. He searched through folders, old tax returns, and documents from the year Mom died.
I sat on the floor nearby, sorting through a box of photographs.
“Dad?””
“Hmm?””
“Did Mom ever tell you she was worried about anything?””
His hands stopped moving.
“Why do you ask?””
“Because Claire said Mom kept secrets.””
Dad leaned back in his chair.
“Your mother worried about ordinary things. Whether you were eating enough vegetables. Whether she'd remembered to pay a bill. Whether the neighbors were feeding their dog too many treats.””
I smiled faintly.
“She didn't like the dog's treats.””
“No, she thought they were terrible for him.””
He picked up a photograph of Mom holding me in the garden.
“But if she had something important to tell me, I believe she would have told me.””
I looked at the photograph.
“What if she couldn't?””
Dad's expression shifted.
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
It was his attorney.
He listened without speaking for nearly a minute.
Then he stood abruptly.
“Are you sure?””
Another pause.
“Where did you find it?””
He turned toward the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.
I watched him remove a thick brown envelope from beneath a stack of folders.
My stomach tightened.
“Dad?””
He held the envelope in both hands.
There was no stamp. No postmark. Just two words written across the front in blue ink.
*For Madison.*
The handwriting was unmistakably my mother's.
Dad looked at me, his eyes wide.
“I've never seen this before.””
He carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a small photograph of Mom holding me as a baby.
Dad unfolded the letter.
He read the first line.
Then he sat down as if his legs had given way.
“What's wrong?”” I whispered.
He looked at the page again.
“Madison, this letter is dated six days before your mother died.””
I reached for his hand.
“What's it say?””
Dad struggled to speak.
Then he read the opening sentence aloud.
Daniel, if you're reading this with our daughter beside you, it means I was right to be afraid.
He stopped.
I stared at him.
“Afraid of what?””
Dad turned the page over.
There was more writing on the back, but the final paragraph had been cut off. The paper ended in a ragged line, as if someone had torn away the rest.
He searched the envelope.
Nothing else was inside.
Except a small note in Claire's handwriting.
Dad unfolded it.
His face went white.
The note contained just one sentence.
*If you want to know what your wife was afraid of, ask the person who was with her the night she died.*
I looked at Dad.
“Who was with Mom?””
He didn't answer immediately.
He was staring at the note, his fingers trembling around its edges.
May you like
Then he whispered a name I had never expected to hear.
“Claire.””
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