Chapter 5: The Letter Nobody Was Supposed to Read
“Let go of me.””
David released my wrist immediately.
I reached for the wooden box.
He didn't try to stop me again, but his expression made it clear that he desperately wanted to.
Mae stood beside the bed, clutching her robe closed. Her damp hair framed a face that seemed to grow paler with every new revelation.
“Elizabeth,” she whispered.
I turned toward her.
“Does that name mean anything to you?””
Mae shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Try to remember.””
“I am trying!””
Her voice broke, and she pressed both hands against her temples.
“There's a little girl. I can almost see her. She's holding something.
Maybe my hand. Maybe someone else's.””
She swallowed.
“Then there's shouting.””
David stepped forward.
“Mae, please sit down.””
She looked at him with sudden anger.
“Stop telling me what to do!””
He stopped immediately.
Mae's chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Everyone keeps talking about my life like I'm not standing right here. Your grandmother knows me. You recognize my things.
Natalie recognizes my scar. And I'm the only person who doesn't know why.””
She looked directly at David.
“What happened to me?””
He had no answer.
I turned back to the box and lifted the envelope.
It was yellowed and soft at the edges. My grandmother's handwriting appeared across the front.
*For Natalie, when the time is right.*
I stared at the words.
“When the time is right,” I repeated.
“How convenient.””
David ran a hand over his face.
“Your grandmother wanted to protect you.””
“From what? The truth?””
“From something she didn't know how to explain.””
“That isn't protection. It's control.””
I slipped a finger beneath the envelope flap.
David's voice sharpened.
“Natalie, please.””
I stopped.
Not because he had ordered me to.
Because I wanted to hear what he would say next.
He looked at Mae, then at me.
“Whatever is in that letter, it won't give us every answer.””
“Then it won't hurt to read it.””
“It might hurt more than you think.””
I pulled out the folded pages.
The paper made a dry whisper as I opened them.
The first line was dated twenty-three years earlier.
My stomach tightened.
I began reading aloud.
My dearest Natalie,
If you are reading this, then the silence has finally become more painful than the truth.
I stopped.
The sentence seemed to have been written specifically for the woman I had become.
I continued.
There are things I should have told you when you were young. I believed that keeping them from you would spare you pain. I was wrong to think that a child could heal from a wound nobody was willing to name.
My eyes burned.
Mae moved closer, listening.
The letter continued.
Rebecca did not enter our family alone. When she came into our lives, she brought two little girls. You were one. The other was Elizabeth.
I lowered the page.
“Grandma told me Rebecca was my mother.””
“She was,” David said quietly.
I looked at him.
“You knew that?””
“Of course I knew Rebecca was your mother.””
“No. You knew there was another child.””
He didn't answer.
I continued reading.
The girls were inseparable. They shared a room, a blanket, and every small secret children believe will last forever. Rebecca used to tell me that if one girl cried, the other would find her before the tears had dried.
A strange pressure filled my chest.
I had memories of a second pillow in my childhood bedroom. A second toothbrush beside the sink. A small hand slipping into mine beneath the kitchen table.
For years, I had assumed those memories belonged to dreams.
I looked at Mae.
“Do you remember sharing a room with someone?””
Mae's lips parted.
“I remember a window.””
“What kind of window?””
“A white curtain. There was a little crack in the glass. Someone used to put a blanket over it when the wind came through.””
I gripped the letter.
My childhood bedroom had a cracked window.
My grandmother had told me it was damaged during a storm.
I continued reading.
Then came the night everything changed.
My breath caught.
The next paragraph had been crossed out so heavily that the ink had torn through the paper.
I turned the page toward the light.
The words beneath the scratches were impossible to read.
“Why would she cross this out?”” I whispered.
David's face had gone rigid.
“Maybe she changed her mind.””
“About what?””
He didn't answer.
I examined the bottom of the page.
A second sheet had been folded behind it, its edges tucked tightly into the envelope. I eased it free.
This page was shorter.
If Elizabeth ever returns, do not assume that she will remember us. Some wounds leave scars the world can see. Others take away the very memories that might explain them.
Mae began trembling.
I looked up.
“Elizabeth?””
She stared at the letter.
“I don't know why, but that name hurts.””
The admission made my throat tighten.
I reached for her hand.
She let me hold it.
Her skin was rough and cold, but her fingers closed around mine with surprising strength.
“It's all right,” I whispered.
“No, it isn't.”” She looked at me, tears gathering in her eyes.
“What if I really am Elizabeth? What if I've spent all these years forgetting a child who loved me?””
I couldn't answer.
Because the same question had been haunting me since I was eleven.
What if someone I loved had spent years looking for me?
What if the silence between us had never been a choice?
I turned back to the letter.
At the bottom of the second page was a final paragraph.
There was one person who knew what happened that night. I begged him to tell the truth. He promised he would. But before he could speak, someone took the girls away from each other.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at David.
“One person,” I said.
“Who was he?””
David stared at the floor.
“Your grandmother never told me his name.””
“Don't lie to me.””
“I'm not.””
“Then why are you acting like you already know the answer?””
He lifted his head.
“Because I know the person who wrote the letter was afraid.””
“That doesn't answer my question.””
“I know.””
I stepped away from him.
The room felt suddenly too small, despite the enormous windows and the sunlight filling every corner.
I looked down at the envelope.
Something was written beneath the flap in tiny letters, almost hidden by the fold.
I opened it fully.
The message consisted of five words.
*Ask Thomas about the hospital.*
My father's name was Thomas Carter.
He had died when I was twenty-four.
For years, I had believed his death had taken the last person who could explain what happened to Rebecca.
Now I was staring at a letter that suggested he had known far more than he ever admitted.
“Dad knew,” I whispered.
David's eyes closed.
I turned toward him.
“Did my father know about Elizabeth?””
He didn't speak.
“David!””
“Yes,” he finally said.
The word landed between us like a dropped glass.
Mae covered her mouth.
I felt the room begin to spin.
“My father knew I had a sister?””
David's voice was barely audible.
“He knew there had been another little girl.””
“And he let me grow up believing I was alone?””
“He thought he was doing what was necessary.””
“What was necessary?””
David looked at Mae.
His expression carried something close to grief.
“I don't know everything, Natalie.””
“Then tell me what you do know.””
He took a slow breath.
“Your father kept a locked drawer in his study. After he died, your grandmother asked me to help her clear out some of his papers. There were hospital documents, correspondence, and a photograph of two children.””
My hands went numb.
“You saw the photograph?””
“Yes.””
“And you never told me?””
“I didn't know what it meant.””
“You didn't ask?””
“I did.””
“Who did you ask?””
He hesitated.
Then he said, “Your grandmother.””
“And what did she tell you?””
“That the matter was finished.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone in this family seems to believe the truth can be buried if they repeat that sentence enough times.””
Mae suddenly stood.
The folded cloth slipped from her lap and fell to the floor.
“I need air.””
I moved toward her.
“We can open a window.””
“No.”” Her eyes were fixed on the photograph.
“I need to get away from these pictures.””
She walked toward the bedroom doorway, then stopped.
“I can see a hallway,” she whispered.
David turned sharply.
“What?””
Mae's fingers curled into the fabric of her robe.
“A hospital hallway. White walls. A clock above a door.””
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Someone is crying. A little girl is calling for her sister.””
I stepped closer.
“What else do you remember?””
Mae shook her head violently.
“I don't know. I can't—”
Her knees buckled.
David caught her before she hit the floor.
For a moment, he held her carefully, one hand supporting her back.
And then Mae looked up at him.
Her expression changed.
Not recognition.
Something more instinctive.
Fear.
“You,” she whispered.
David went completely still.
“What about me?””
Mae stared at his face as though she were trying to match it to an image buried somewhere deep inside her mind.
“I've seen you before.””
My heart hammered.
David's grip tightened slightly.
“Where?””
Mae's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know.””
She swallowed.
“But I remember a man's voice. He said he would come back for us.””
David's face lost all color.
May you like
Then Mae whispered the next words.
“He sounded exactly like you.””
