The Woman With the Name on My Mother's Death Report

Dr. Whitmore locked the consultation room door before he explained what the photograph meant.

“The nurse assigned to your mother's room was named Rebecca Shaw,” he said.

“She worked here for eleven years. Three days after Claire died, she resigned without notice.””

I stared at the security badge on his phone.

Rebecca Shaw.

The photograph showed a woman in her late thirties with dark hair pulled into a bun, tired eyes, and a small silver cross around her neck. She looked ordinary. The kind of person you would trust to hold your hand when the world was falling apart.

Apparently, she had seen something worth disappearing over.

“Where is she now?”” I asked.

Dr. Whitmore shook his head.

“I don't know. Her personnel file lists an address in Westbrook, but she moved before the end of the month. The hospital tried contacting her twice. She never responded.””

Maya leaned against the desk.

“Why would she leave if she'd done nothing wrong?””

“Perhaps she was frightened,” the doctor replied.

“Of my father?””

He didn't answer.

That was answer enough.

I pulled out my phone and called Detective Harper. She picked up after two rings.

“Ethan? What's happened?””

I explained the photograph, the nurse's resignation, and Dad's sudden appearance outside the building.

When I mentioned the threat about the key, Harper went quiet.

“Do not meet your father alone,” she said.

“And do not give him anything your mother left behind.””

“He's standing downstairs with a lawyer.””

“Let him stand there. I'll send an officer to speak with him.””

“Detective, we need to find Rebecca.””

“I agree. Send me the photograph and everything you know about her. I'll have my team locate her.””

I hesitated.

“There's something else. Dad knew about the key before I even told anyone I remembered it.””

“Then someone may have told him about your mother's letter, or he may already know what she was hiding. Either way, be careful.””

After we ended the call, I looked at Maya.

“We need to get home.””

She frowned.

“Why?””

“Because Mom's music box is still in her bedroom.””

Maya's eyes widened.

“The one Grandma gave her?””

I nodded.

Mom had kept the small wooden box on her dressing table for as long as I could remember. It played a slow, slightly off-key version of Moon River. When I was little, she'd wind it before bedtime and let me turn the tiny brass key.

I hadn't thought about it in years.

But now I remembered the afternoon she'd shown me the hidden compartment beneath its velvet lining.

She'd said it was a place to keep something precious.

And she'd made me promise never to tell anyone where the key was hidden.

I had been twelve.

I'd thought she was playing a game.

I was beginning to understand that she might have been preparing for something terrible.

We left the building through the rear entrance. Detective Harper had instructed us not to confront Dad, and I intended to follow that advice.

But when we reached the car park, Maya stopped beside the passenger door.

“Ethan, what if the key isn't there anymore?””

I looked at her.

“Then we'll find another way.””

“What if Dad gets to it first?””

I didn't answer immediately.

The truth was that I had no idea what Mom had hidden, how important it was, or how far Dad might go to get it.

All I knew was that he had spent the previous night trying to destroy evidence.

And now he knew we were looking.

When we arrived home, Dad's car was already in the driveway.

I pulled over on the opposite side of the street.

“Stay here,” I told Maya.

She shook her head.

“I'm not leaving you alone with him.””

“We don't know if he's inside.””

“Exactly.””

She unbuckled her seat belt.

“I'm coming.””

We walked up the path together.

The front door was unlocked.

Inside, the house was unnaturally quiet. Dad's coat hung on the hall stand, and a half-empty cup of coffee sat on the kitchen counter.

Then I heard a drawer slam upstairs.

Maya grabbed my arm.

“Ethan.””

I raised a finger to my lips.

We moved quietly up the stairs.

The sound came from Mom's bedroom.

Dad was inside, pulling open drawers and throwing their contents onto the bed. Jewelry boxes, scarves, old photographs, and folded letters lay scattered across the quilt she had chosen for her last birthday.

He was searching.

And he wasn't even trying to hide it.

“Looking for something?”” I asked from the doorway.

Dad spun around.

For a second, he looked genuinely startled.

Then he straightened his jacket.

“You shouldn't be here.””

“This is my home.””

“Not this room.””

I stepped inside.

“You're going through Mom's things.””

“I'm looking for important documents.””

“Funny. You didn't care about those documents when we were asking questions yesterday.””

His face tightened.

“Don't start.””

Maya walked past me and picked up a photograph from the floor. It showed Mom holding Noah as a newborn, her face exhausted and glowing with happiness.

She carefully placed it on the dressing table.

“You're making a mess of everything she loved,” Maya said.

Dad ignored her.

He turned to me.

“Where is the key?””

I felt my pulse quicken, but I kept my expression blank.

“I told you. I don't know what you're talking about.””

“Your mother told me she had shown you.””

“Then why are you asking?””

His mouth tightened.

“Because she told me a lot of things before she decided to destroy this family.””

Maya stepped forward.

“She was trying to protect us.””

“From what?”” Dad snapped.

“From losing a house? From having to move? From discovering that their father made a few bad financial decisions?””

“From you lying to her,” I said.

Dad swept a stack of papers off the dressing table.

They fluttered to the floor.

“Do you have any idea what I've sacrificed for this family?””

I stared at the scattered documents.

“Mom sacrificed everything for us. She stayed home when Noah was born. She worked weekends when you said the business was struggling. She sold her jewelry when you couldn't make the mortgage payment.””

His face reddened.

“You have no idea what happened between your mother and me.””

“Then explain it.””

“I don't owe you an explanation.””

“Then stop searching her room.””

He took a step toward me.

“Give me the key, Ethan.””

“No.””

Dad's hand shot out and caught my shirt.

Maya screamed.

“Let him go!””

He shoved me against the wardrobe.

The impact knocked the breath from my lungs.

“Listen to me,” he said, his face inches from mine.

“Your mother made a mistake. She trusted the wrong people. She got involved in things she didn't understand, and now you're repeating her mistakes.””

I stared at him.

“Did you leave her to die?””

His grip loosened.

For a moment, I saw something behind his anger.

Not regret.

Recognition.

Then he released me.

“Get out of my room.””

I almost laughed.

“Your room?””

He looked away.

Maya moved beside me, shaking with fury.

“You don't deserve to say her name.””

Dad pointed toward the door.

“Both of you. Out.””

I turned to leave.

Then I noticed something beneath the bed.

A small wooden box lay on its side, half hidden by a fallen blanket.

Mom's music box.

I crouched and picked it up.

The lid was scratched, and the brass keyhole was empty.

Dad went completely still.

“Put that down.””

I looked at him.

“Why?””

“Because it's mine.””

Maya stared at him.

“Grandma gave it to Mom.””

“And your mother gave it to me.””

It was a lie.

I knew it instantly.

Mom had told me the story of that music box dozens of times. Grandma had given it to her when she graduated from college, and Mom had promised to pass it down to Maya one day.

Dad had never cared about it.

Until now.

I turned the box over.

A tiny brass screw had been loosened on the bottom.

Someone had already searched it.

I looked up.

“You've been here before.””

Dad's face hardened.

“I said put it down.””

I opened the lid.

The familiar tune began to play.

Moon River.