Chapter 2 - The Little Girl Was Afraid of Me Because Her Mother Had Told Her the Blackwell Family Was Dangerous, but the Rabbit Contained a Photograph That Should Never Have ExistedFor several seconds, I didn't move.
Emma's finger remained pointed at me.
Lily looked confused.
“Daddy isn't bad.”
Emma immediately shook her head.
“I didn't say he was.”
“Then why?”
“Because Mommy said your family hurts people.”
The words hit me.
My family had earned that reputation.
But Grace had known the truth.
She had married me anyway.
At least, that's what I believed.
“Your mother knew my family?”
Emma nodded.
“Did she know my name?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She had pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“Of you.”
I looked at the rabbit.
My security chief waited.
I asked:
“Can I see what's inside?”
Emma held it tighter.
“Mommy said only if I met the man in the picture.”
I froze.
“What man?”
“You.”
Lily looked at me.
“Daddy?”
I slowly sat beside Emma.
“Why would your mother want me to find this?”
Emma whispered:
“She said you would know what it means.”
I looked at my security chief.
“Don't touch it.”
He nodded.
I gently opened the stitching myself.
Inside was a plastic sleeve.
A photograph.
An old key.
A folded piece of paper.
I removed the photograph first.
My blood went cold.
It showed Grace.
Seven years younger.
Holding a newborn baby.
A baby with dark hair.
Green eyes.
And a tiny crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her left ear.
I stared at it.
I knew that birthmark.
Lily had the same one.
I had seen it when she was born.
But this baby was not Lily.
The photograph was dated eight years earlier.
Three months before Grace became pregnant with Lily.
My hands began shaking.
I turned it over.
A handwritten note:
If Marcus ever finds this, tell him she was born before Lily.
I couldn't breathe.
I looked at Emma.
“What is your mother's name?”
She whispered:
“Grace.”
Everything stopped.
Lily's mother.
My dead wife.
Grace.
The woman I had loved.
The woman I had believed had died only once.
The woman who had never told me she had another child.
I stared at Emma.
“Your mother was Grace Blackwell?”
She nodded.
“And you're seven?”
“Yes.”
“You were born when?”
“October.”
I counted.
Seven years earlier.
Lily was seven.
They were the same age.
Twins?
No.
The birth dates were different.
Emma had been born five months before Lily.
My world shifted.
Grace had been pregnant before she met me.
Or worse—
She had been pregnant while she was already with me.
I looked toward Lily.
She was holding the ice cream spoon.
Completely unaware that everything she knew about her mother might be a lie.
My security chief whispered:
“Boss.”
I handed him the key.
“Take this to the safe.”
He nodded.
But before he moved, a voice came from behind us.
“You shouldn't have opened that.”
I turned.
A woman stood on the path.
Mid-fifties.
Black coat.
Gray hair.
Elegant.
I recognized her.
Karen.
Emma's aunt.
She had been in one of Grace's old photographs.
“Emma,” she called softly.
The little girl immediately hid behind me.
That reaction told me everything.
Karen stopped.
“What did you do?”
I asked.
She smiled nervously.
“I was looking for her.”
“Since when?”
“Earlier.”
“Where were you?”
“I got delayed.”
“Since last night?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
“You left a seven-year-old child in a park overnight.”
“She ran away.”
“No.”
Emma whispered:
“She told me to wait.”
Karen stared at her.
Then at me.
“You've been talking to this child.”
“Yes.”
“Give her to me.”
“No.”
Karen's expression hardened.
“She isn't your daughter.”
“I know.”
“Then give her back.”
I stepped toward her.
“Not until I understand why my dead wife's daughter was abandoned in a public park.”
Karen went pale.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Emma.
Then Lily.
Then me.
And whispered:
“Grace never wanted you to know.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
Karen backed away.
“You were never supposed to find her.”
I stepped closer.
“Who is Emma's father?”
Karen said nothing.
I asked again.
“Who?”
She whispered:
“He's dead.”
I remembered the photograph.
The baby.
Grace.
The note.
And the words:
Tell him she was born before Lily.
I suddenly realized something.
Grace had hidden a child.
From me.
From everyone.
And whoever was responsible for Emma's disappearance had known that one day I might find her.
I looked at Karen.
“You're afraid.”
She shook her head.
“I'm warning you.”
“About what?”
She whispered:
“If you take Emma home, they will come for Lily too.”
Then she turned and ran.
My men chased her.
I didn't follow.
I looked at the two girls.
One my daughter.
One the daughter I never knew I had.
They looked identical.
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And for the first time in seven years, I realized my wife's death might not have been the tragedy I thought it was.
It might have been the beginning of the lie.
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