Chapter 5 - The Father I Lost Twice
The voice came from the doorway.
My father's voice.
For eight years, I had imagined hearing it again.
Sometimes in dreams.
Sometimes in crowded places when someone behind me laughed the same way he used to.
But never like this.
Never inside the old workshop where I had buried every memory of him.
I couldn't move.
The man standing in the doorway stepped forward slowly.
The light from outside touched his face.
Older.
Different.
But still him.
The same eyes.
The same scar above his eyebrow.
The same expression he had whenever he knew something was wrong but didn't want me to worry.
"Dad?"
The word escaped before I could stop it.
The man froze.
Then he looked away.
That hurt more than anything.
Because my father always looked at me.
Always.
"Amelia..."
His voice broke.
I felt anger rise through the shock.
Eight years.
Eight years of believing he was gone.
Eight years of visiting a grave.
Eight years of hearing people say how sorry they were.
And he was standing in front of me.
Alive.
"You were alive."
My voice shook.
He didn't deny it.
"I know."
I laughed quietly.
There was no happiness in it.
"You know?"
I stepped closer.
"You know I cried at your funeral?"
His face changed.
"You know I kept your old jacket because it still smelled like you?"
He closed his eyes.
"You know Mom couldn't sleep for months?"
"Amelia—"
"No."
My voice became louder.
"You don't get to say my name like nothing happened."
The room became silent.
My father looked down.
And for the first time in my life, I saw him afraid.
Not afraid for himself.
Afraid of what he had done to me.
"I wanted to come back."
"Then why didn't you?"
He looked at the recording device on the table.
"Because someone was watching."
I shook my head.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
I pointed toward the hidden documents.
"The truth."
"The danger."
"The secrets."
"But nobody tells me anything."
My father walked closer.
"Because the truth is not something you can forget after hearing it."
I stared at him.
"I already lost you once."
My voice became quieter.
"I shouldn't have to lose you again because you refuse to trust me."
Those words hurt him.
I could see it.
Good.
He needed to feel something.
He sat down slowly on the old wooden chair where he used to carve furniture.
The same chair I remembered from childhood.
"I never stopped loving you."
I looked away.
"Love doesn't explain disappearing."
"No."
He nodded.
"It doesn't."
For a moment, he just sat there.
Then he reached into his coat.
He pulled out an old envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Amelia.
My heart stopped.
"I wrote this the night before I disappeared."
I took it.
"Why didn't you send it?"
"Because if someone intercepted it, they would know I failed."
"Failed at what?"
He looked at me.
"Protecting you."
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Not of my father.
Not of Isabella.
Of me.
A picture taken when I was a teenager.
I was standing outside my high school.
I remembered that day.
But I didn't remember the person standing across the street.
A man.
Watching me.
On the back of the photo were words.
THEY FOUND HER.
I looked up.
"Who?"
My father's expression became serious.
"The people who wanted Isabella gone."
I shook my head.
"I don't understand."
"You think the Bellamy & Rowe incident was about a bracelet?"
"No."
I already knew the answer.
"It was a warning."
My father nodded.
"Someone wanted to see if Isabella still had protection."
"And me?"
He looked at me.
"You were the test."
The words made my stomach turn.
"Why me?"
"Because they knew you would help her."
I thought about that day.
The moment I stepped forward.
The moment I took the slap.
I had thought it was a choice.
A simple decision.
Help someone who needed help.
But now my father was telling me someone had expected it.
Someone had planned around who I was.
"Who is doing this?"
My father looked toward the workshop window.
"Someone inside the Moretti family."
I remembered Adrian.
His warning.
His silence.
His fear.
"Adrian knows."
My father looked at me sharply.
"You met Adrian?"
"Yes."
"How much did he tell you?"
"Enough to know you weren't dead."
My father closed his eyes.
"Then we're already too late."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"What does that mean?"
Before he could answer, a sound came from outside.
A car door closing.
My father immediately stood.
The change was instant.
The man who had just been my father became someone else.
Someone who had spent years surviving.
"Amelia."
"What?"
"You need to leave."
I didn't move.
"No."
"Listen to me."
"No."
My voice became firm.
"I spent eight years believing you were dead."
I stepped closer.
"I am not leaving again."
He looked at me.
And for a second, I saw the little girl who used to hold his hand walking through the park.
Then he looked toward the door.
"They found us."
The workshop went silent.
My father moved toward the back wall.
He pressed a hidden button beneath an old shelf.
A small section of the wall opened.
I stared.
"You built a secret room?"
He didn't answer.
He grabbed a folder from inside.
Then he handed it to me.
"If anything happens, give this to Adrian."
I looked down.
There was one name on the folder.
A name I recognized.
Vanessa Clark.
My eyes widened.
"Vanessa?"
My father nodded.
"She is not the person controlling this."
"Then why is her name here?"
"Because she was paid to start everything."
The sound of footsteps came closer.
Someone was walking toward the workshop.
Slowly.
Confidently.
My father looked at the door.
Then back at me.
"There is something else you need to know."
"What?"
His expression changed.
A sadness I had never seen before.
"Your mother wasn't the only person who knew I was alive."
I froze.
"What are you saying?"
He opened his mouth.
But before he could answer, the workshop door handle began to move.
My father stepped in front of me.
The person outside stopped.
Then a voice came through the door.
A voice I recognized.
A voice that should not have been there.
"Thomas."
My father's face went pale.
May you like
Because the person standing outside was the last person he expected to see.
Isabella Moretti.
