I read Jessica's email until the words stopped looking real.
Does he know his birth mother has been looking for him?
Six weeks before our first date.
Before she asked what music I liked.
Before she learned how I took my coffee.
Before she rested her head against my shoulder and told me she had never felt so safe with anyone.
She had known something about me that I didn't know myself.
“How long?” I asked.
Caroline looked at Maya.
“How long were you looking for me?”
“Actively?”
She took a breath.
“Almost three years.”
I turned toward her.
“You said you found the letters after your sister died last winter.”
“The letters gave me Arthur's name.”
She twisted a tissue between her fingers.
“They finally proved you had been adopted. Before that, I only had a suspicion.”
“What suspicion?”
“My brother was very ill.”
She lowered her eyes.
“A few months before he died, he told me there were things our parents had done that he couldn't undo.”
She paused.
“When I asked if he meant you, he started crying.”
The room became quiet.
“He wouldn't explain.”
Her voice softened.
“But I couldn't forget it.”
Maya pulled her chair closer.
“The earlier search relied on an approximate birth date, the area where Caroline's family lived, and fragments from relatives.”
She looked at me.
“Ethan Hayes was a possible match.”
“My father's connection to her brother wasn't established.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at the printed email.
“So the investigator contacted Jessica.”
“Yes.”
“And she told him she knew me.”
My voice rose.
“She didn't know me.”
I remembered the fundraiser perfectly.
A rented community hall.
A silent auction.
Jessica carrying a clipboard.
She had stopped beside my table.
Asked whether I was Arthur Hayes's son.
When I said yes, she smiled.
“My dad used to work construction too.”
At the time, it had seemed like a small coincidence.
Now I wondered whether even that had been true.
“What did the investigator tell her?”
Maya scrolled through the forwarded thread.
“He asked her to pass along his information.”
“And?”
“She offered to speak with you first.”
“What happened next?”
Maya hesitated.
“Read it to me.”
She did.
I spoke with Ethan. His birth date doesn't match your records, and he says he is not adopted. Please remove him from your search.
Caroline closed her eyes.
I sat down hard.
“She changed my birthday?”
“She supplied a different date.”
“And that was enough?”
“The investigator should have verified it independently.”
Maya's expression tightened.
“We'll ask him why he closed that lead.”
I looked at Caroline.
“For years?”
“I was told you weren't the right person.”
She looked directly at me.
“I am so sorry.”
“You didn't write that email.”
“No.”
“You still stopped looking in the right place.”
“Because she told you there was nothing there.”
The room went quiet.
I thought about the wedding photograph on our mantel.
Dad on one side of me.
Jessica on the other.
One had spent his life afraid the truth would cost him his son.
The other had somehow made herself the person who decided whether I would ever learn it.
My phone rang.
Jessica.
I let it stop.
A message appeared.
We need to talk before you make a mistake you can't take back.
Then another.
I know things about Arthur that you don't.
I placed the phone facedown.
Maya watched me.
“You don't have to answer tonight.”
“I need to know what she did.”
“We can work toward that without accepting her version first.”
She was right.
I hated how much effort it took to recognize it.
For years, whenever something went wrong between Jessica and me, she explained it until I no longer trusted my own memory.
Now I had dates.
Messages.
A check.
I needed to keep them.
“Send me everything.”
Maya nodded.
“I also think you should speak with an attorney who can advise you personally. My client is Arthur.”
“Do you know someone?”
“Yes.”
“Call them.”
Caroline reached into her bag.
“There are bank records I can send too.”
I looked at her.
“Was forty thousand all of it?”
She froze.
That hesitation answered me.
“How much?”
“Ethan—”
“How much did she take?”
Caroline stared at the table.
“There was another payment.”
“After the hospital photograph?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“She said you would need time away from work.”
She swallowed.
“She said the mortgage was behind.”
I thought about the automatic payments I checked every month.
“How much?”
“Eighteen thousand.”
My chair scraped across the floor.
I walked to the window.
Fifty-eight thousand dollars.
My father had apologized for asking me for one thousand.
Caroline had given up forty thousand because she believed I was sick.
Then another eighteen because she believed my home was in danger.
“Did you have that kind of money to spare?”
Caroline didn't answer.
I turned.
“Caroline.”
She looked down.
“I sold my camper.”
The words were almost inaudible.
“My sister and I bought it together before she got sick.”
She attempted a small smile.
“After she died, I thought I might take it down the coast.”
She looked at me.
“But Jessica said you needed help.”
I stared at her.
Dad's motorcycle.
His last piece of land.
Caroline's camper.
All things people had sacrificed because they loved me.
And the woman I married had found a way to turn that love into money.
A nurse appeared in the doorway.
“Mr. Hayes?”
I straightened.
“Your father is showing signs of waking.”
I followed her upstairs.
The room had changed.
The breathing tube was gone.
A clear oxygen mask still covered part of his face.
His eyes were barely open.
“Dad?”
His gaze moved toward me.
I sat beside him and took his hand.
“Don't try to talk.”
His fingers tightened weakly.
“You made it.”
I swallowed.
“The surgeon said you made it.”
His eyes filled.
I leaned closer.
“I read the letter.”
He shut his eyes.
“No.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Look at me.”
His eyes opened.
“You're still my dad.”
His mouth moved beneath the mask.
I heard one word.
“Sorry.”
“We'll talk about that later.”
He tried to lift his hand.
I held it between both of mine.
“Caroline is here.”
His eyes widened.
“She's downstairs.”
I wiped a tear from his temple.
“She came when she heard.”
He looked toward the door.
“She wants you to get better.”
For several moments, he simply looked at me.
Then his fingers moved faintly.
“Phone.”
“It's all right.”
I leaned closer.
“We have the messages.”
He shook his head.
“Mine.”
The nurse stepped closer.
“Let's keep this short. He needs rest.”
I nodded.
“Where's your phone, Dad?”
“Jacket.”
His eyes closed.
I stood, afraid I had exhausted him.
Then he whispered another word.
“Kitchen.”
I leaned down.
“What?”
His eyes opened just enough to find mine.
“After…”
He struggled for breath.
“You went outside.”
I went still.
The day he came to my house.
The thousand dollars.
I had taken an envelope to the front door and stepped onto the porch to move a delivery box.
Jessica had been behind him.
They had been alone for perhaps half a minute.
“Did she say something?”
Dad's gaze shifted toward the bedside cabinet.
The nurse touched my arm.
“That’s enough for now.”
I kissed his forehead.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
His eyes closed.
This time his face looked a little less frightened.
Linda helped me locate the bag containing his belongings.
His jacket was folded beneath his shoes.
The phone was in the inside pocket.
The screen was cracked across one corner.
I had offered to replace it at Christmas.
He had told me it still worked fine.
My birthday unlocked it.
That nearly broke me again.
There was a recording app on the home screen.
Inside were three files.
Two were accidental recordings.
Brief rustles.
A few seconds of television.
The third was dated the afternoon he came to my house.
I carried the phone downstairs.
Maya and Caroline looked up.
“He's awake.”
Caroline covered her face with both hands.
“Thank God.”
“He told me to check this.”
I placed the phone on the table.
The recording lasted four minutes and eleven seconds.
It began with fabric rubbing against the microphone.
Then my father's voice.
“I didn't come here to cause trouble.”
I closed my eyes.
Our conversation in the backyard.
The records.
His promise to repay me.
He had started recording before asking for help.
Perhaps because he was afraid.
Perhaps because he wanted proof of what he finally managed to tell me.
We listened.
My footsteps moved away.
A door opened.
My voice came from farther off.
Then Jessica.
“You should have stayed out of it.”
Caroline went rigid.
Dad answered quietly.
“He deserves to know.”
“You don't get to decide that now.”
“I should have told him years ago.”
His voice shook.
“That doesn't mean I keep lying.”
A sharp sound followed.
Something had been set down on the kitchen counter.
Jessica spoke again.
“If you tell him about her, I'll tell him about the papers.”
Maya reached toward the phone.
Then stopped.
Dad's voice changed.
“What papers?”
“The ones you signed.”
“I was told she died.”
“Then I guess you'd better hope he believes that.”
My father's breathing became audible.
“What do you want?”
“For you to leave it alone.”
“And Caroline?”
“She'll stop eventually.”
“She’s his mother.”
“And I'm his wife.”
The recording caught a faint sound outside.
My voice.
“Dad? You ready?”
Jessica lowered hers.
“You've already had thirty-four years with him.”
A pause.
“Don't make me take the rest.”
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
I stared at the phone.
I had been ten feet away.
Ten feet.
Moving a cardboard box while my wife threatened my father inside the home he had helped me buy.
Caroline was crying without making a sound.
Maya asked me to send her a copy.
I did.
Then I looked at my own phone.
Five new messages from Jessica.
The last one said:
I'm at home. Come here and let me explain.
For the first time that day, I knew exactly what I wanted to say.
I know about the money.
I know about the investigator.
I heard what you said to Dad.
The typing indicator appeared immediately.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then my phone rang.
I answered on speaker.
“Ethan.”
Jessica's voice shook.
“Please tell me you're alone.”
“I'm not.”
“This is humiliating.”
I looked at Caroline.
“Yes.”
She began crying.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
“There was never a good time.”
“You met me because an investigator asked you to pass along a message.”
“That isn't why I married you.”
“Why did you lie to him?”
A long silence.
Then she said, “Because you were happy.”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
My voice was quiet.
“Try again.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
Her crying stopped.
When she spoke again, her voice was different.
“Your father didn't trust me from the beginning.”
“He sold land so we could buy a home.”
“For you.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Everything was always for you.”
“He never said that.”
“He didn't have to.”
I looked down at Dad's phone.
“You told him you'd take me away.”
“I was angry.”
“You told Caroline I needed surgery.”
“I panicked.”
“You took fifty-eight thousand dollars.”
“We can pay her back.”
“With whose money?”
She had no answer.
I heard movement on her end.
A drawer opening.
Something falling.
“Where are you?”
“At home. I told you.”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something.”
“What?”
“Ethan, just come home.”
Maya wrote something on a sheet of paper.
Do not go alone.
I nodded.
“I'm staying with Dad.”
Jessica's breathing changed.
Then, very softly, she said, “You always choose him.”
I looked toward the elevators.
“He needed me to choose him three days ago.”
I ended the call.
A moment later, my phone chimed.
It wasn't Jessica.
It was the security app for our house.
Motion detected: Office.
I opened the live feed.
I had installed the camera after a contractor's tools disappeared during our renovation.
It faced the office doorway and the desk beyond it.
Jessica was kneeling on the floor.
The safe stood open.
Beside her were a passport, two thick envelopes, and the blue document folder where I kept the papers for the house.
I watched her pull out a folded sheet.
She scanned it.
Then she tore it in half.
I stood so quickly that the chair struck the wall.
“What is it?” Maya asked.
Before I could answer, someone entered the office.
A man.
Jessica looked up.
He held out his hand.
She gave him the envelopes.
The camera caught his face as he leaned over the desk.
I knew him.
He had stood beside Jessica at our wedding.
He had hugged my father.
He had called me family.
It was her brother, Nathan.
I switched on the audio.
“Did he see the transfer?” Nathan asked.
Jessica shook her head.
“I don't know. He knows about the woman.”
“Then get your passport.”
My eyes dropped to the banking app on my phone.
I opened our emergency savings account.
Yesterday, the balance had been $72,400.
Now it was $406.18.
On the live feed, Nathan took the envelopes.
Then he said the sentence that made Maya reach for her own phone.
“You should have listened to me. We were supposed to leave before your husband found his mother.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART5: The Money Was Gone, the Safe Was Empty, and the Man Helping My Wife Escape Knew Secrets About My Family I Had Never Heard
My Father Came Asking for Money, but the Question My Wife Asked Him Made Me Realize Something Was Terribly Wrong
Part 4 of 16
