CHAPTER 3 – The Maid With The Missing Years
CHAPTER 3 – The Maid With The Missing Years
For the first time in three years, Andrew Whitmore did not sleep in an empty room.
But he also did not sleep.
He sat alone in his study long after midnight, staring at the photograph on his desk.
A photograph of a woman smiling.
A woman who was supposed to be gone.
His wife.
Clara.
Three years ago, he had stood in a cemetery while rain fell around him.
He remembered the weight of the flowers in his hand.
He remembered his sons crying.
He remembered promising them:
"Mommy is in heaven now."
The worst part was not losing her.
The worst part was convincing his children that they had lost her.
Now she was upstairs.
Alive.
Breathing.
Sleeping under the same roof.
But Andrew could not stop thinking about one thing.
What happened during those missing years?
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Clara stood there.
Not wearing the maid uniform anymore.
Just a simple gray sweater and jeans.
But somehow, that made everything more difficult.
Because the uniform had allowed him to pretend she was a stranger.
Now there was no distance.
No excuse.
"You're still awake."
Andrew looked away.
"So are you."
A faint smile appeared on her face.
"I never slept much after the fire."
The words hurt.
Because he knew exactly why.
"Sit."
Clara hesitated.
Then sat across from him.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
They were two people who knew everything about each other.
And somehow knew nothing.
"Tell me about those three years."
Andrew finally said.
Clara looked down.
"I don't know where to begin."
"Begin anywhere."
She took a breath.
"After the fire, I woke up in a hospital."
"I didn't know my name."
Andrew frowned.
"What?"
"The burns affected my memory."
A painful silence.
"I remembered pieces."
"The boys."
"You."
"The house."
"But I couldn't remember everything."
Andrew leaned forward.
"You forgot me?"
Clara looked at him.
"No."
A tear appeared.
"I forgot how to find you."
Those words broke something inside him.
"Who helped you?"
Andrew asked.
"A nurse."
"Her name was Evelyn."
"She told me someone had brought me there without identification."
"Someone wanted me hidden."
"Why didn't you contact me when you recovered?"
Clara looked away.
"Because when I finally remembered..."
She stopped.
"What?"
"I saw the news."
Andrew froze.
"What news?"
"Your wedding."
The room went silent.
Andrew's face changed.
"Victoria?"
Clara nodded.
"When I saw you standing beside her..."
"I thought I had lost everything."
Andrew looked devastated.
"I never loved her."
Clara smiled sadly.
"I know that now."
"But then?"
"I didn't."
The honesty hurt more than anger.
"Why did you become a maid in my house?"
Andrew asked.
Clara's hands tightened.
"Because I wanted to see my children."
Andrew looked at her.
"Without telling them?"
"I was afraid."
"Of me?"
"No."
A pause.
"Of whoever did this."
That answer stayed between them.
Because Andrew knew one thing.
The person who planned everything was still out there.
The next morning, Andrew called an emergency meeting.
Everyone important in the Whitmore household gathered.
Security.
Lawyers.
Investigators.
And Clara.
"From this moment forward," Andrew said, "everything related to the fire will be reopened."
A lawyer looked uncertain.
"Mr. Whitmore, the case was closed."
Andrew's eyes hardened.
"It was closed because someone wanted it closed."
Daniel placed a folder on the table.
"I found something."
Everyone looked at him.
"A missing security report."
Andrew frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"On the night of the fire, three cameras were disconnected."
A pause.
"Not damaged."
"Disconnected manually."
Andrew's expression darkened.
"By who?"
Daniel placed another paper down.
"That is the problem."
"What?"
"The person who accessed the system used your personal security code."
Silence.
Andrew stared.
"My code?"
Daniel nodded.
"Only three people had it."
Andrew already knew the answer.
Himself.
Clara.
And...
"Victoria."
But before they could continue, Clara suddenly stood.
Her face had lost color.
"What?"
Andrew looked at her.
She was staring at the folder.
At one specific document.
"What is it?"
Clara slowly walked closer.
Her hands trembled.
"I know this handwriting."
Daniel handed her the paper.
Clara looked at the signature.
And froze.
"No."
Andrew stepped closer.
"Who is it?"
Clara whispered:
"The person who signed this..."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
"Was the person who saved me."
Everyone became silent.
"What?"
Andrew asked.
Clara looked up.
"The night of the fire, someone pulled me out."
"I thought they were trying to help."
"But now I remember something."
"What?"
"He had this exact handwriting."
Andrew looked at the document.
The signature.
The name.
And his blood turned cold.
Because the person Clara believed saved her...
Was the same person who had officially confirmed her death.
Thomas Whitmore.
Andrew stared at the name.
His older brother.
His father's closest advisor.
The man who had stood beside him at the funeral.
The man who cried with him.
The man who may have known Clara was alive the entire time.
Then Clara whispered the sentence that changed everything.
"Andrew..."
Her voice broke.
"I don't think I was supposed to survive."
A phone suddenly rang.
Everyone looked.
It was Daniel's.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
"What?"
A pause.
Then:
"Repeat that."
Andrew watched his face become pale.
"What happened?"
Daniel slowly lowered the phone.
"The hospital records were found."
"And?"
Daniel looked at Clara.
"They don't list Clara Whitmore as a survivor."
Andrew frowned.
"Then whose name is on the records?"
Daniel swallowed.
"The name belongs to a woman who died three years ago."
A silence.
"Who?"
Daniel answered:
"Clara Bennett."
The room froze.
Because according to the official records...
The maid had died.
And Andrew's wife had died.
Two dead women.
One living person.
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And someone had spent three years making sure nobody discovered why.
End of Chapter 3
