Chapter 2: The Photograph
Nobody spoke.
For several seconds, the sidewalk seemed to disappear beneath Leah's feet.
Cars passed.
A horn sounded somewhere down the block.
The grocery-store sign buzzed faintly overhead.
But Leah heard only Daniel's breathing.
Slow.
Controlled.
Wrong.
Ava sat completely still.
The photograph trembled between Leah's fingers.
Daniel stared at it as if it were something dangerous.
“Give me that,” he said.
Leah didn't move.
“Daniel…”
“I said give it to me.””
His voice wasn't loud.
That made it worse.
Leah had known Daniel for six years.
She had seen him angry exactly twice.
She had never heard him sound like this.
Ava's hand slowly reached toward Leah's sleeve.
Leah stepped in front of her.
“Don't scare her.””
Daniel's eyes flicked toward the child.
“I am not trying to scare anyone.””
“You just demanded a photograph from an eight-year-old.””
Daniel's jaw tightened.
“I need to know where she found it.””
Ava whispered, “You know her.””
Daniel looked at her.
“What?””
“The lady.””
Ava pointed to the woman in the photograph.
“You know her.””
Daniel's expression changed.
Just for a second.
But Leah saw it.
Recognition.
Pain.
Fear.
Then it vanished.
Daniel shook his head.
“That picture isn't what you think it is.””
Leah looked down again.
The young Daniel in the photograph had his arm around the pregnant woman's shoulders.
The woman's smile was unmistakable.
Leah knew that smile.
She had seen it in framed photographs inside Daniel's house.
His late wife.
Monica.
The woman everyone in the neighborhood remembered.
The woman who, according to Daniel, had lost their baby shortly before Ava's birth.
Leah looked up.
“Is this Monica?””
Daniel said nothing.
“Daniel.””
“Yes.””
The answer was almost inaudible.
Leah's chest tightened.
“Then why is Ava drawing you?””
Daniel's eyes snapped toward Ava.
Ava hugged her knees.
“She draws things she sees,” Daniel said.
Leah stared at him.
“She was born eight years ago.””
Daniel looked away.
“That's impossible.””
Ava's face remained expressionless.
“No.””
Daniel looked at her again.
Ava reached into her hoodie and pulled out another piece of cardboard.
She handed it to Leah.
Leah unfolded it.
This drawing was different.
The same family stood together.
But this time there was something behind them.
A hospital.
A red door.
And a woman standing beside a bed.
Leah felt her skin prickle.
“Where did you see this?””
Ava pointed at the hospital.
“My mom drew it.””
Leah's heart skipped.
“Your mother?””
Ava nodded.
“Where is she?””
Ava looked down.
“She died.””
Daniel closed his eyes.
Leah turned toward him.
“You knew?””
Daniel didn't answer.
“You knew she was alive?””
“I didn't know anything.””
“Then why do you look like you just got punched?””
Daniel opened his eyes.
“Because that photograph should not exist.””
Leah held it up.
“Why?””
Daniel stared at the date on the back.
“Because Monica died before that picture was taken.””
Leah frowned.
“That makes no sense.””
“I know.””
“You said she lost the baby.””
“She did.””
“And then?””
Daniel swallowed.
“She died two years later.””
Leah looked at Ava.
The child was watching Daniel carefully.
“What's your mother's name?”” Leah asked.
Ava hesitated.
Then she answered.
“Renee.””
Daniel went pale.
Leah noticed.
“Daniel?””
He didn't respond.
“Daniel, do you know a Renee?””
He turned away.
Ava spoke again.
“She said you were supposed to come back.””
Daniel slowly turned.
“What did she tell you?””
Ava's fingers tightened around the cardboard.
“She said you were scared.””
Leah stared at Daniel.
“Scared of what?””
Daniel stepped backward.
“Ava, who told you about me?””
“My mom.””
“When?””
“Before she died.””
“Did she tell you my name?””
Ava nodded.
“She said Daddy.””
The word hit the sidewalk like a dropped glass.
Leah's mouth opened.
Daniel didn't blink.
Ava looked at him with the same quiet seriousness she had shown all afternoon.
“You're my dad.””
Daniel's face drained of color.
“No.””
Ava didn't move.
“You are.””
“No,” Daniel repeated, louder.
Leah stepped between them.
“Daniel, stop.””
“I don't have a daughter.””
Ava's eyes filled with tears.
Daniel saw them.
For the first time, his anger broke.
His voice became softer.
“I didn't know.””
Leah stared at him.
“You're saying you didn't know?””
“I didn't.””
“Then who knew?””
Daniel looked toward the street.
His face had gone rigid.
“I need to close the store.””
Leah couldn't believe him.
“Daniel—”
“I need to close the store.””
He walked inside.
Ava watched him go.
Leah crouched beside her.
“Hey.””
Ava wiped one tear with her sleeve.
“Don't worry.””
“About what?””
Ava looked at the photograph.
“My mom said he would say that.””
Leah's stomach tightened.
“Say what?””
“That he didn't know.””
Ava reached into her hoodie again.
This time she pulled out a small envelope.
It was sealed.
On the front, written in faded black ink, were four words:
*For Daniel. If she finds you.*
Leah stared at the envelope.
“Ava…”
Ava handed it to her.
“My mom said not to open it.””
Leah looked toward the store.
Daniel was standing behind the front window.
Watching them.
His face was unreadable.
Then he saw the envelope.
And suddenly he ran toward the door.
“Leah!””
She turned.
Daniel burst outside.
“Don't open that.””
Leah held the envelope against her chest.
“Why?””
Daniel stopped three feet away.
His eyes were fixed on the handwriting.
“I've seen that envelope before.””
Leah's voice dropped.
“When?””
Daniel stared at Ava.
“Eight years ago.””
May you like
Then his eyes moved to Leah.
“And it wasn't written by Renee.””
