Chapter 5: The Woman Who Knew My Mother
Dad took the photograph from my hand.
He examined the background, then turned it over.
His breathing became uneven.
“Where did this come from?””
“I told you. Someone sent it.””
He studied Vanessa's face.
“She told me she had only visited your mother twice.””
“How many times was she actually there?””
“I don't know.””
I sat down.
My legs felt weak.
The photograph was dated three days before my mother's death.
I remembered those days.
I remembered waiting in the hospital corridor with Dad while nurses hurried through double doors.
I remembered being told that Mom needed rest.
I remembered asking to see her.
And I remembered Vanessa.
She had appeared beside the vending machines, wearing a beige coat and carrying a leather folder.
At the time, I thought she was a family friend.
Now that memory felt completely different.
“Dad,” I said quietly, “did Mom ask to see me that day?””
His eyes filled.
“Yes.””
“Then why didn't I see her?””
He looked away.
“Your mother was very weak. The doctors advised against visitors.””
“Was I allowed to see her?””
He hesitated.
“Not that afternoon.””
“Who decided that?””
“I did.””
I stared at him.
“You kept me from seeing my mother?””
“Maya, she was struggling to breathe. I didn't want your last memory of her to be—”
“You don't get to decide what my last memory should have been!””
My voice cracked.
Dad reached for me.
I moved away.
He lowered his hand.
“I was trying to protect you.””
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
I stood and walked toward the kitchen window.
For seven years, I had carried the memory of not saying goodbye.
I had convinced myself that Mom hadn't been conscious enough to recognize me.
But the photograph suggested something else.
She had been conscious.
She had been waiting.
And I hadn't been allowed into the room.
“Did Vanessa tell you Mom didn't want to see me?””
Dad looked devastated.
“She said your mother was too upset.””
“Did Mom say that herself?””
“No.””
“Then why did you believe her?””
He had no answer.
I took out my phone and enlarged the photograph.
There was something visible in the folder Vanessa held.
A blue sticker.
A logo.
I recognized it.
It belonged to a law firm in downtown Chicago.
I showed Dad.
“Do you know this firm?””
He leaned closer.
“Whitmore and Associates.””
“Was that Mom's attorney?””
“I think so.””
I searched the firm's name.
The website was still active.
A number appeared at the top.
Dad called immediately.
After a few minutes, he spoke to a receptionist and requested the estate department.
An older man eventually answered.
“Mr. Bennett?””
“This is Marcus Bennett. My late wife, Eleanor, was a client of your firm.””
There was a pause.
“Yes, I remember Eleanor.””
Dad glanced at me.
“I need to ask about documents she left before her death.””
The attorney became quiet.
“Is this about the trust?””
“Yes.””
Another pause.
“Mr. Bennett, I believe we should arrange a meeting.””
“Can you tell me whether she left a sealed letter?””
The attorney sighed.
“She did.””
My heart jumped.
“Where is it?”” I whispered.
Dad looked at me.
The attorney continued.
“It was supposed to be delivered to Maya on her eighteenth birthday.””
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“My eighteenth birthday was three months ago,” I said loudly.
Dad repeated it into the phone.
The attorney went silent.
Then he asked:
“Did you receive it?””
“No.””
“I see.””
Dad's voice became sharper.
“Who was responsible for delivering it?””
“The original instructions named you as the guardian responsible for ensuring its delivery. However, the file contains an acknowledgment stating that the letter was collected.””
“By whom?””
“According to the acknowledgment, Vanessa Bennett.””
Dad closed his eyes.
“When?””
“Six months after Eleanor's death.””
I covered my mouth.
Vanessa had collected my mother's final letter.
And never given it to me.
“Do you have a copy?”” Dad asked.
“Unfortunately, the letter was sealed. But I have the collection record and the instructions.””
“Can we see them?””
“Yes. I can arrange an appointment tomorrow morning.””
Dad thanked him and ended the call.
I sat motionless.
A letter.
My mother had written me something.
Something she wanted me to read when I turned eighteen.
And Vanessa had kept it.
I stood.
“We need to get it.””
“We will.””
“Dad, what if it explains everything?””
He looked at me.
“Then we'll finally know what happened.””
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
Dad walked toward the entrance.
I followed him.
A woman stood outside, holding a large envelope.
She appeared to be in her late fifties, with short gray hair and a navy coat.
“Mr. Bennett?””
“Yes?””
“My name is Patricia. I'm Vanessa's sister.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“What do you want?””
She glanced at me.
“Is Maya here?””
I stepped forward.
“I'm Maya.””
Patricia looked at me for a long moment.
Then she held out the envelope.
“Your mother asked me to give you something.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
Patricia swallowed.
“I'm sorry it took so long.””
Dad took the envelope.
Inside was a small velvet pouch, a photograph, and a handwritten note.
The photograph showed my mother sitting on a garden bench.
She looked healthy.
Happy.
And beside her stood a little girl.
Me.
On the back, Mom had written:
*For my Maya. Never let anyone convince you that you are difficult to love.*
I pressed the photograph against my chest.
The note was folded twice.
Dad opened it carefully.
There were only four sentences.
Marcus, if you are reading this with Maya, then I hope you finally found the courage to tell her the truth.
The money is not the most important thing I left her.
Please find the original recording.
And whatever happens, do not let Vanessa get near the blue box.
Dad read the note again.
“Blue box?”” I asked.
Patricia nodded.
“Your mother kept one in her study.””
“Where?””
“In the old house.””
Dad looked at her.
“What old house?””
Patricia hesitated.
“Eleanor's family home. The house she owned before she married you.””
I turned toward Dad.
“Mom owned another house?””
He nodded slowly.
“I thought it had been sold.””
Patricia shook her head.
“It wasn't.””
Then she lowered her voice.
“Vanessa tried to buy it after Eleanor died. But the sale never went through.””
“Why?””
Patricia looked directly at me.
“Because the property belonged to Maya.””
Dad's phone began ringing.
He looked at the screen.
Vanessa.
He declined the call.
It rang again.
And again.
Finally, he answered.
“What?””
Vanessa's voice came through the speaker, loud enough for me to hear.
“Marcus, you need to listen to me.””
“No.””
“Patricia is at your house, isn't she?””
Dad looked at the woman standing beside us.
“Yes.””
Vanessa began breathing rapidly.
“Do not let her give Maya that envelope.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“Why?””
There was a long silence.
Then Vanessa whispered:
“Because if Maya finds the recording, she'll know who was in that hospital room when Eleanor stopped breathing.””
The call disconnected.
I looked at Dad.
May you like
He looked at Patricia.
And for the first time, I realized that my mother's death might not have been as simple as everyone had told me.
