Chapter 3 - What Happened Six Years Ago
I read the message twice.
Dad whispered, “Six years ago?”
I looked at him.
“You tell me.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
He sat down.
Six years earlier, Rebecca had still been married to Scott.
They lived twenty minutes from my parents.
I was in graduate school.
Daniel and I had just started dating.
I barely came home.
Rebecca stopped attending holidays for almost three months that year.
Mother said she was “going through something private.”
At the time, I assumed marital problems.
“What happened between Rebecca and Scott?”
Dad frowned.
“They separated for a while.”
“Why?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“What did Rebecca say?”
“She said he betrayed her.”
“How?”
Dad looked down.
“I never asked.”
Of course he had not.
That was our family specialty.
Silence disguised as respect.
Daniel arrived shortly after nine.
He entered the hospital room so fast the door struck the wall.
“Maggie.”
I stood.
He wrapped one arm around me and the other around Lily.
For a few seconds, none of us spoke.
Then he looked at Dad’s bandaged arm.
“What happened?”
Dad told him.
Daniel listened.
His jaw tightened.
When Dad finished, Daniel said, “Where is Helen now?”
“Police station.”
“Rebecca?”
“Same.”
“Good.”
Dad looked away.
Daniel noticed the documents on the table.
“What are those?”
I told him everything.
The forged guardianship form.
Whitaker.
The photograph.
The anonymous envelope.
Six years ago.
Daniel’s expression sharpened.
“Scott.”
“What?”
“Call Scott.”
I stared at him.
“Rebecca’s ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t even have his number.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“He texted me after Lily was born.”
I froze.
“What?”
Daniel pulled out his phone.
“He congratulated us.”
“You never told me.”
“It didn’t seem important.”
“Show me.”
He opened the message thread.
Scott had written:
Congratulations. She’s beautiful.
Daniel replied:
Thanks, man. Hope you’re doing well.
Scott:
Take care of her.
Daniel:
Always.
Scott:
I meant all of them.
That was it.
I read the final line again.
I meant all of them.
“Call him.”
Daniel did.
No answer.
He called again.
Voicemail.
He sent a text.
We need to talk about Rebecca.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
Not on the phone.
Daniel typed:
Where?
Scott replied with an address.
A twenty-four-hour diner off Interstate 95.
And another message.
Do not bring Helen.
I almost laughed.
“Trust me,” I said. “That won’t be a problem.”
The doctors discharged Lily shortly before ten.
We considered going to a hotel.
Dad insisted we use his brother’s vacant house in Richmond.
Uncle Robert was traveling.
Mother did not have a key.
Only Dad did.
We drove there first.
Daniel stayed with Lily while Dad and I met Scott.
The diner was nearly empty.
Scott sat in the back booth wearing jeans and a faded Virginia Tech sweatshirt.
He looked older than I remembered.
Not six years older.
Twenty.
He stood when he saw me.
“Maggie.”
“Tell me what happened.”
No greeting.
No small talk.
He nodded.
We sat.
Dad slid into the booth beside me.
Scott stared at him.
“You know?”
Dad answered, “Not enough.”
Scott laughed without humor.
“That sounds right.”
“What happened six years ago?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Rebecca got pregnant.”
The room seemed to go quiet.
“What?”
“She was pregnant.”
Dad stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She never told us.”
“She told Helen.”
I felt cold.
“What happened to the baby?”
Scott’s eyes dropped.
“We lost her.”
I swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“She was seven months.”
Dad covered his mouth.
I remembered those missing months.
Rebecca skipping Thanksgiving.
Mother saying she was sick.
The sudden separation.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Scott looked at Dad.
“Ask your wife.”
Dad whispered, “Helen hid it?”
“She said Rebecca couldn’t survive the humiliation.”
“Humiliation?”
Scott’s voice hardened.
“Because the baby wasn’t mine.”
I stared at him.
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rebecca cheated?”
“Yes.”
Dad looked like he had been struck.
Scott continued.
“I found out during the pregnancy.”
“Did Rebecca know who the father was?”
“She claimed she didn’t.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It didn’t make sense then either.”
“What happened after the baby died?”
Scott rubbed his hands together.
“Rebecca changed.”
“How?”
“She became obsessed with the idea that she had been robbed of motherhood.”
I thought about Lily.
My skin prickled.
“Helen encouraged it,” Scott said.
Dad looked at him.
“How?”
“She kept saying Rebecca’s daughter was supposed to be the first granddaughter. She kept saying the family had lost its rightful beginning.”
There it was.
Order.
Rights.
First.
Mother had spent six years turning grief into a law.
Scott leaned forward.
“When you announced your pregnancy, Rebecca called me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Helen had found a way to fix what happened.”
I stopped breathing.
“What did that mean?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“She said, ‘Maggie owes me.’”
My hands went numb.
Scott saw my face.
“I thought it was bitterness. I didn’t understand how far they’d gone.”
“Why did you text Daniel after Lily was born?”
“Because Rebecca contacted me again.”
“What did she say?”
“She sent a picture of Lily.”
“How did she get it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else?”
Scott hesitated.
“She said, ‘Mom was right. She looks like mine.’”
I felt sick.
Dad closed his eyes.
Scott continued.
“I told her to stay away from you.”
“What did she say?”
“She said I didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That Lily had been meant for her.”
No one spoke.
Finally, Dad asked, “Who was Rebecca’s baby’s father?”
Scott looked at him.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“You must have suspected someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Scott glanced toward the diner entrance.
Then back at us.
“Charles Whitaker.”
My blood went cold.
“The lawyer?”
Scott nodded.
“He was helping Helen with something back then.”
“What?”
“I never found out.”
“Did Rebecca admit it?”
“No.”
“Then why him?”
“I found hotel receipts.”
Dad leaned back.
“Dear God.”
Scott reached into his jacket.
“I brought something.”
He put a small flash drive on the table.
“What’s that?”
“Recordings.”
“Of what?”
“Rebecca.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Why do you have recordings?”
“Because by the end of our marriage, I thought I was going crazy.”
He pushed the drive toward me.
“She would say something terrifying, then deny it the next morning. So I started recording.”
I picked it up.
“What will I hear?”
Scott stared at me.
“The reason I left.”
We returned to Uncle Robert’s house.
Daniel had Lily asleep in a portable bassinet in the living room.
We plugged the flash drive into Dad’s laptop.
There were seven audio files.
The first contained Rebecca screaming at Scott.
The second was mostly crying.
The third began with Mother’s voice.
Dad froze.
Helen sounded younger.
But unmistakable.
“You don’t have to accept what God did to you.”
Rebecca cried.
“I want my daughter.”
“You will have one.”
“How?”
“Families correct themselves.”
I gripped Daniel’s hand.
The recording continued.
Mother said, “Margaret has always received things easily.”
Rebecca whispered something we could not hear.
Mother answered:
“If she has the first girl, then she will understand what it feels like to lose what should have been yours.”
Dad stopped the recording.
Nobody spoke.
Daniel whispered, “That was six years ago.”
Before I was married.
Before I was pregnant.
Before Lily existed.
They had already decided.
Dad opened the fourth recording.
Rebecca was speaking to someone.
A man.
We recognized his voice from nowhere.
But then Rebecca said his name.
“Charles.”
Whitaker.
I leaned closer.
Rebecca whispered:
“Mom says when Margaret has a baby, there are legal ways.”
Charles replied:
“There are legal ways if the mother is unfit.”
“She will be.”
“How do you know?”
A pause.
Then Rebecca said:
“Because Mom will make sure everyone thinks she is.”
I stopped breathing.
The recording ended.
Daniel stood.
“We need to give this to the police.”
“Yes.”
Dad opened the final file.
I almost told him not to.
Something about the timestamp bothered me.
It had been recorded one week before Rebecca and Scott officially separated.
Rebecca was sobbing.
Mother was there.
Charles too.
Then another voice entered.
A fourth person.
Male.
Older.
Dad went completely still.
“What?” I asked.
He did not answer.
The man said:
“Helen, this has gone far enough.”
Mother replied:
“You agreed to help.”
“Not with this.”
“You knew the plan.”
“I knew part of it.”
Dad grabbed the laptop.
His hands shook.
I looked at him.
“Who is that?”
He stared at the speaker.
The fourth man spoke again.
And this time, Dad whispered the name before the recording did.
“Robert.”
My uncle.
The man whose house we were sitting in.
Then we heard a sound behind us.
May you like
The front door lock turned.
Someone had a key.
