Chapter 4 - The Lie My Brother Chose to Believe
Nathan stepped from the car.
Four years disappeared.
I was twenty-seven again.
Standing beside my suitcase.
Being asked to disappear.
But I wasn't in my parents' house now.
This was my business.
My name was on the office door.
People here knew me.
Nathan entered.
His eyes found mine.
He stopped.
"Annie."
Nobody called me that anymore.
"Don't."
He nodded.
Claire stood between us.
"You followed me?"
Nathan looked at her.
"You wouldn't answer."
"That doesn't give you the right."
"I knew where you were going."
Claire laughed bitterly.
"Of course you did."
I looked between them.
"Are you still together?"
Neither answered immediately.
Then Claire said, "No."
That surprised me.
"We never married."
Nathan looked exhausted.
"The wedding was canceled."
"When?"
"Four years ago."
The timing was obvious.
"Because of me?"
"Because of the lies," Claire said.
She placed the tag on my desk.
"After I found this, I started asking questions."
Nathan stared at it.
"I told her."
Claire turned on him.
"You told me after I found Anastasia's employment records."
My attention sharpened.
"How?"
"The nursery receipt had an employee number."
Of course.
Claire had followed the smallest thread.
"I went back to Bellweather," she said. "You'd already left that location. Rosa wouldn't give me your information, but she confirmed you were alive."
"Rosa never told me."
"I asked her not to."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't know whether finding you would hurt you."
That answer disarmed me.
Claire continued.
"I confronted Nathan."
I looked at my brother.
He looked away.
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth."
Claire shook her head.
"Eventually."
Nathan rubbed his face.
"Our parents started the lie."
"And you continued it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
His answer came quietly.
"Because I was a coward."
I had imagined this conversation countless times.
In most versions, Nathan defended himself.
Blamed Mom.
Blamed Dad.
Blamed my illness.
I hadn't prepared for honesty.
He looked at me.
"I was twenty-four. Claire's family seemed perfect. I wanted them to think we were perfect too. Mom made the first mistake, and instead of correcting it, I let it grow."
"You let them publish my obituary."
His eyes closed.
"Yes."
"You attended my memorial?"
"Yes."
"You planted that tree?"
"Yes."
Each answer hurt.
But I needed them.
"Did you ever think about what would happen if I found out?"
"Every day."
"And?"
"I told myself we'd fix it later."
The family motto.
Later.
Claire stepped away.
"I didn't come here for his confession."
"Why did you come?"
She looked at the tag.
"Because Nathan didn't write those words."
"Did Mom?"
"No."
"Dad?"
"No."
"Then who?"
Claire pulled out her phone.
"I had the handwriting examined."
I stared at her.
"You did what?"
"I work with archival fundraising records now. I know people who authenticate documents."
She opened an image.
Two handwriting samples appeared side by side.
One was the message.
SHE'S ALIVE.
The other was a handwritten note.
Same slant.
Same strange capital S.
"Whose writing is that?"
Claire looked at Nathan.
He answered.
"Grandma Evelyn's."
My grandmother.
Dad's mother.
She'd died two years after I left.
A memory surfaced.
Grandma Evelyn standing in our kitchen years earlier, watching Mom tell me to pack for another weekend.
Her face had been furious.
I'd assumed she disapproved of me too.
"What did she know?"
Nathan reached into his coat.
"More than we realized."
He placed an envelope on my desk.
My name was written across the front.
ANASTASIA.
My grandmother's handwriting.
"Where did you get that?"
"Dad's house."
I didn't touch it.
Nathan continued.
"Mom and Dad are selling."
"Why?"
"They're in trouble financially."
I felt nothing.
Or thought I did.
"While cleaning out Grandma's old cabinet, Dad found this."
"Did he open it?"
"No."
"Why bring it to me?"
"Because it belongs to you."
I picked up the envelope.
It had been sealed for years.
Claire moved toward the door.
"I'll give you privacy."
Nathan followed.
I stopped him.
"Wait."
He turned.
"Why now?"
His face tightened.
"Because Mom is sick."
The sentence hung between us.
I refused to let it pull me backward.
"What does that have to do with the letter?"
"Nothing."
"Then don't use it."
"I'm not."
He swallowed.
"She wants to see you."
"I don't want to see her."
"I told her that."
That surprised me too.
Nathan opened the door.
Before leaving, he said, "You don't owe us anything."
Then he was gone.
I sat alone.
The envelope waited.
Finally, I opened it.
Inside was a letter and a small key.
My dear Anastasia,
If you're reading this, then you finally learned what they did.
My hands began shaking.
I kept reading.
I learned the truth too late.
I confronted your father.
He made me promise not to interfere because he said you were fragile and exposure would harm you.
I believed him for three days.
Then I saw you carrying a suitcase out the side door while your family entertained guests inside.
I knew exactly who was fragile.
It wasn't you.
I covered my mouth.
The letter continued.
I left something for you.
Not money.
Something more important.
Proof.
The key taped to this letter opens a safe-deposit box at First County Bank.
Inside are copies of everything I collected.
You deserve to know how the lie began.
But Anastasia, there is one thing your parents never told Nathan.
One thing even your brother does not know.
I stopped.
May you like
At the bottom, Grandma had written one final sentence.
Before they declared you dead, someone tried to make it legally true.
