Chapter 3 - My Daughter Remembered Seeing My Dead Father the Night He Was Supposed to Have DiedEmma's memory was fragmented.
A red door.
A silver car.
A man carrying a black bag.
My father.
And another person.
A woman.
“Who was the woman?” I asked.
Emma closed her eyes.
“She had red hair.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She said…”
Emma frowned.
“Birdie.”
My blood froze.
That word again.
Adrian stood behind me.
He looked pale.
“Who taught her?”
He whispered:
“Your mother.”
I turned.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“She died.”
“I'm not sure.”
I stared.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“I never found a body.”
I couldn't breathe.
“My mother disappeared after your father's death.”
“I thought she left.”
“She did.”
“Where?”
“We never found her.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn't know if she was alive.”
I sat down.
My entire family had been built on lies.
My father.
My mother.
Adrian.
Mark.
Even my own memories.
Emma looked at me.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Grandpa was scared.”
“Why?”
“He said someone was coming.”
“Who?”
“Adrian.”
I froze.
Adrian's face changed.
“He said your name?”
Emma nodded.
“He said…”
She closed her eyes.
“Adrian is not what you think.”
The room went silent.
I turned toward him.
He looked devastated.
“Is that true?”
“Not the way you think.”
“Then explain.”
“My father was involved in the network.”
“Your father.”
“Yes.”
“Was he good?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He protected people.”
“And?”
“He also hurt people.”
“Because of power.”
He nodded.
I looked at Emma.
“She saw him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My father had taken her to the warehouse.”
“Why would he take my daughter?”
“He didn't.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
He looked at me.
“Your mother.”
I couldn't breathe.
“My mother took Emma?”
“No.”
“Then why does Emma remember her?”
“Because your mother was there.”
“But she disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I stood.
“I need answers.”
Adrian nodded.
“We'll get them.”
The next morning, we searched the warehouse.
It had been sealed for years.
Inside, we found old records.
Photographs.
A child's drawing.
A red door.
Emma's drawing.
Exactly the same.
She had drawn it the week before.
I stared.
“This isn't coincidence.”
“No.”
There was a hidden room behind a wall.
Inside was a safe.
Adrian opened it.
A box.
Inside:
My mother's jewelry.
My father's watch.
A photograph.
My mother.
Me.
And Adrian.
We were children.
I stared.
“When was this taken?”
“Twenty-four years ago.”
I touched the photograph.
I remembered that day.
Barely.
A summer afternoon.
Adrian at seventeen.
Me at fourteen.
My mother smiling.
My father standing nearby.
Everyone seemed happy.
But on the back, one sentence:
THE GIRL MUST NEVER REMEMBER THE NIGHT AT THE WAREHOUSE.
I looked at Adrian.
“What night?”
He was silent.
My anger rose.
“You're not going to do this anymore.”
He looked at me.
“Do what?”
“Protect me with lies.”
He lowered his head.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“You don't get to decide what I can handle.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
He finally spoke.
“Your father was killed because he wanted to expose The Keeper.”
“My mother helped him.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“My father wanted me to stay away.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I loved you.”
I couldn't speak.
“And when your father died?”
“I blamed myself.”
“Why?”
“I had promised him I'd protect your family.”
“You failed.”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
Then the security alarm screamed.
Men were inside.
Adrian pulled me behind him.
Gunfire erupted.
Emma was in another room with security.
I heard her scream.
We ran.
A man grabbed her.
I tried to reach her.
Adrian fired.
The man dropped.
Emma ran into my arms.
She was crying.
“Mommy!”
“I'm here.”
Adrian scanned the room.
Then froze.
On the wall was a message.
THE GIRL REMEMBERS.
Below it:
NOW BRING HER MOTHER.
My blood went cold.
They didn't just want Emma.
They wanted me.
Because I remembered something too.
The red door.
The warehouse.
And my father's final words.
Don't trust the man who saves you.
May you like
I looked at Adrian.
And for the first time, I wondered whether my father had meant him.
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