Chapter 3: The Man Behind the Missing Years
The knocking stopped.
For a few seconds, nobody moved.
The apartment was so quiet that I could hear the rain sliding down the window beside me.
My mother still held my arm.
Her fingers were shaking.
I had seen my mom scared before.
When I was little, I woke up from nightmares and found her sitting beside my bed, trying to hide her tears. When Dad died, I saw her stare at the phone for hours, waiting for a call that would never come.
But this was different.
This wasn’t sadness.
This was fear.
A kind of fear that knew exactly what was standing on the other side of the door.
“Mom,” I whispered.
She looked at me.
“Go to your room.””
“But—”
“Jordan.””
The way she said my name stopped me.
It wasn’t a request.
It was a warning.
I slowly stepped backward.
My eyes stayed on the door.
Then the man outside spoke again.
“Emily, I know you’re in there.””
My mother closed her eyes.
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
Like someone who wasn’t worried about being ignored.
“I just want to talk.””
My mother walked toward the door.
I followed quietly.
She turned around.
“I said stay back.””
I froze.
Then she reached for the handle.
Before she opened it, she whispered:
“No matter what happens, don’t believe everything you hear.””
The door opened.
A man stood in the hallway.
He was probably in his late fifties.
He wore a dark coat that looked expensive and perfectly pressed. His silver hair was neatly combed. He looked nothing like the kind of person who would show up uninvited during a storm.
That almost made him more frightening.
Because he looked normal.
Polite.
Controlled.
The kind of person people trusted.
He looked at my mother.
“Emily.””
She didn’t smile.
“What do you want, Richard?””
The man glanced past her.
Then his eyes landed on me.
And for a moment, his expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
Like seeing me confirmed something he already suspected.
“So,” he said quietly.
“You finally found him.””
My mother stepped in front of me.
“Don’t talk to him.””
Richard gave a small smile.
“Still protecting him.””
“Leave.””
“I heard Margaret came back.””
My mother’s face tightened.
“You don’t get to say her name.””
Richard sighed.
“After all these years, you’re still angry.””
My fists clenched.
I didn’t understand who this man was.
But I knew one thing.
He talked like he had power.
Like everyone else was just reacting to the things he did.
“You’re the one who told my mom her mother was dead,” I said.
My mother looked back at me.
“Jordan—”
Richard looked surprised.
Then he smiled.
“So she told you.””
“Told me what?””
He looked at my mother.
“Nothing?””
My mother’s voice became cold.
“Get out.””
Richard ignored her.
“You should ask your mother why she never searched for Margaret.””
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
My mother’s eyes filled with anger.
“Don’t listen to him.””
Richard tilted his head.
“Interesting.””
He looked at me.
“Your mother always did have a talent for leaving out important details.””
My mother stepped forward.
“Enough.””
Richard’s smile disappeared.
“You think keeping him away from the truth will protect him?””
The hallway light flickered.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Richard looked directly at me.
“Your father knew what happened.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
My mother grabbed the door.
“Leave now.””
But Richard continued.
“Daniel found out why Margaret disappeared.””
My breathing became uneven.
“My dad?””
Richard nodded slowly.
“He was closer to the truth than anyone.””
My mother slammed the door shut.
The sound echoed through the apartment.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Her hand still on the lock.
Then she turned around.
And I knew.
She was going to tell me something.
We sat at the kitchen table.
The same table where my mother helped me with homework.
The same table where we ate birthday cake every year.
But that night, it felt like a courtroom.
Like every word mattered.
My mother placed a cup of water in front of me.
Neither of us touched it.
“His name is Richard Hale,” she said.
I waited.
“He was your father’s older brother.””
I stared at her.
“Dad had a brother?””
She looked down.
“Yes.””
“Why didn’t I know that?””
My mother didn’t answer immediately.
Because the answer was probably worse than I expected.
“Because after your father died, Richard made sure we stayed away from his family.””
“Why?””
She looked toward the window.
“Because your father discovered something.””
“What?””
She took a deep breath.
“When I was seventeen, my mother disappeared.””
I looked at her.
“Margaret?””
She nodded.
“Everyone told me she left.””
“But she didn’t.””
“No.””
My mother’s voice cracked.
“She would never leave me.””
I looked at the photograph.
“Then why did everyone say she did?””
My mother wrapped her arms around herself.
“Because Richard showed me evidence.””
“What evidence?””
“Letters.””
She swallowed.
“He showed me letters that looked like they were from my mother. Letters saying she was leaving. Saying she didn’t want contact with me anymore.””
My stomach turned.
“But they were fake?””
My mother looked at me.
“Yes.””
“Who wrote them?””
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
“Richard?””
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Yes.””
The room felt smaller.
“But why?””
My mother looked toward my father’s old picture on the shelf.
“Because your father’s family had money.””
I frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.””
“It wasn’t about money alone.””
She paused.
“It was about control.””
I remembered Margaret’s words.
Someone made sure she believed I was gone.
My mother continued.
“Your father was the only person who believed me when I said something felt wrong.””
“Dad knew?””
She nodded.
“He searched for answers.””
“What happened?””
Her face changed.
“He found Margaret.””
I leaned forward.
“What?””
“Years after she disappeared, your father found proof she was still alive.””
I could barely breathe.
“Then why didn’t he bring her home?””
My mother looked down.
“Because before he could, he discovered what Richard had done.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What did Richard do?””
My mother was silent.
Then she said:
“He threatened him.””
The rain outside grew louder.
“Your father told me he had proof. He told me he was going to expose Richard and bring my mother back.””
“What proof?””
My mother shook her head.
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“He hid it.””
“Where?””
She looked at me.
“I don’t know.””
I stared at her.
“But Dad died before he could tell you?””
She nodded.
The room went quiet.
Then I asked the question I had been afraid to ask.
“Was Dad’s accident really an accident?””
My mother didn’t respond.
That was the answer.
A horrible answer.
Because sometimes silence says more than words.
I stood up.
“I need to find Margaret.””
My mother immediately shook her head.
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because Richard knows she’s back.””
“So?””
“So he’s scared.””
I stopped.
My mother looked at me.
“People like Richard don’t get scared unless something threatens them.””
I thought about the bus.
The teenagers watching Margaret.
The way she looked at them.
The way she knew something.
Then my phone buzzed.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
A message.
My hands went cold when I opened it.
*You don’t know what your grandmother is hiding.*
Another message appeared.
*Ask her about the night your father died.*
Then a third message.
*Ask her why she let him go alone.*
I stared at the screen.
My mother noticed my expression.
“What is it?””
I slowly turned the phone toward her.
The moment she read the messages, all the color left her face.
“Jordan…”
“What?””
She stood up so quickly the chair fell backward.
“Delete that.””
“Why?””
“Delete it right now.””
I had never heard panic in her voice like that.
“Mom, who sent this?””
She didn’t answer.
Because she already knew.
The phone buzzed again.
One final message appeared.
This time, it wasn’t a warning.
It was a name.
*Margaret Collins.*
My grandmother’s name.
May you like
And beneath it was a sentence that made my mother cover her mouth.
*She was there the night Daniel died.*
