Chapter 4 – Another Husband
Chapter 4 – Another Husband
I couldn't stop staring at the black square on Harper's hand-drawn map.
The rest of the house was filled with bright colors—yellow bedrooms, a blue kitchen, green windows overlooking the backyard. But the basement was nothing more than a solid block of black crayon, pressed so hard the paper had nearly torn.
Harper quietly placed the pencil down.
"I don't like drawing that room."
I kept my voice even.
"Have you been down there?"
She nodded.
"Lots of times."
"What was down there?"
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Instead, she reached for Scout, burying her face in the faded fox's neck.
I recognized the look immediately.
It wasn't that she didn't remember.
It was that remembering hurt.
So I changed the subject.
"Do you know who Daniel is?"
The name left my mouth before I could reconsider.
Harper's entire body froze.
For several seconds, she didn't blink.
Then she whispered one word.
"Daddy."
That evening, after Harper had gone to bed, I sat alone in the garage with my laptop.
The death certificate lay beside me.
Daniel Brooks.
Age: Thirty-four.
Cause of death: Smoke inhalation following a residential fire.
Location of death: Denver General Medical Center.
The official report was painfully brief.
No mention of suspicious circumstances.
No criminal investigation.
Just another tragic accident.
But something didn't fit.
If Daniel had died in a house fire...
Why had Harper described fire as something her mother threatened?
Why had someone hidden photographs and notes inside Scout?
Why had Daniel written, Trust Harper. Don't trust Clara.
Unless...
He had known he wasn't going to survive.
I opened a search engine and typed Daniel's name.
Hundreds of unrelated results appeared.
Nothing useful.
Then I searched using Clara's maiden name.
Still nothing.
No wedding announcements.
No social media posts.
Almost as if someone had erased that part of her life.
That was unusual.
People disappeared from the internet all the time.
Marriages didn't.
The next morning, I made a decision.
I called in sick.
It wasn't something I ever did.
Trauma nurses didn't skip shifts unless they absolutely had to.
But Harper needed someone who believed her.
And I needed answers.
After Clara left for work and Harper boarded the school bus, I drove across town to the county records office.
The clerk behind the counter looked bored.
"I need access to public marriage records."
"Names?"
"Clara Monroe."
She typed for a few seconds.
Then frowned.
"Monroe wasn't her original surname."
"I know."
More typing.
"There were... two marriages."
Two.
Not one.
I felt my pulse quicken.
"The first was to Daniel Brooks."
"I know."
"The second..."
She clicked another file.
"...was to Ethan Carter."
Me.
My throat tightened.
"No others?"
She hesitated.
Then looked closer.
"Actually..."
Another click.
"There was an application for a marriage license before Daniel."
"To who?"
She read the screen.
"Michael Turner."
"What happened?"
"It was never completed."
Cancelled.
Interesting.
Not proof of anything.
But another piece that didn't fit.
On my way back, I couldn't stop thinking about Daniel.
People don't usually hide notes inside stuffed animals unless they're desperate.
And desperate people often tell someone.
A friend.
A sibling.
A coworker.
Someone.
I searched Daniel Brooks on Facebook.
Nothing.
LinkedIn.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
The photograph.
The lake.
The mountains.
Colorado had thousands of lakes.
But only a handful looked exactly like that.
Pine trees.
Rocky shoreline.
Snow-covered peaks in the distance.
I zoomed in on the background.
There.
A weathered wooden sign.
Only three letters were visible.
"...REE."
Could have been Creek.
Could have been Tree.
Could have been anything.
Still...
It was more than I had yesterday.
That afternoon I picked Harper up from school.
She climbed into my truck carrying Scout.
No smile.
Just quiet relief.
As we drove home, she suddenly asked,
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"If someone goes away..."
She stared out the passenger window.
"...can they still love you?"
The question hit me harder than any punch.
"Yes."
"What if they never come back?"
"They can still love you."
She was silent for a long time.
"My daddy loved me."
"I believe he did."
She looked at me.
"Mommy says he didn't."
"What do you think?"
A tiny tear rolled down her cheek.
"I think..."
Her voice cracked.
"...he was trying to come back."
That evening, Clara was unusually affectionate.
She wrapped her arms around me while I washed dishes.
"I've been thinking."
"About what?"
"Us."
She rested her head against my shoulder.
"I've never felt this safe before."
The irony almost made me laugh.
Safe.
Harper was terrified of her.
Daniel was dead.
And Clara was talking about safety.
"I was lucky to find you."
"You were."
She smiled.
"You know..."
Her tone became almost playful.
"I was worried at first."
"Worried?"
"That Harper might scare you away."
I turned off the faucet.
"Why would she do that?"
"Oh, she gets attached."
Clara shrugged.
"And when men leave..."
She sighed dramatically.
"...she invents stories to explain it."
My stomach tightened.
"There have been other men?"
"Just Daniel."
Her answer came too quickly.
Too smoothly.
Too rehearsed.
Exactly like someone who'd answered the same question before.
"And he left?"
She nodded sadly.
"He couldn't handle being a father."
Lie.
Harper believed Daniel had loved her.
Scout contained hidden notes.
Someone had scratched Daniel's face out of every photograph.
Someone wanted history rewritten.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I took the folded photograph from my desk drawer.
This time, I examined the back.
At first, it looked blank.
Then I tilted it toward the lamp.
Indented writing.
Someone had written on the sheet that used to be above it.
Years of documenting patient charts had taught me this trick.
I grabbed a soft graphite pencil from Harper's art supplies.
Very gently, I shaded across the back of the photograph.
Slowly...
Letters began to appear.
Not ink.
Pressure marks.
A hidden message.
My heart pounded as the words emerged.
If anything happens to me...
I swallowed.
More letters appeared.
...take Harper to Samuel. He knows everything.
Samuel.
No last name.
No address.
No explanation.
Just one name.
And beneath it—
A phone number.
The final digit had been smudged beyond recognition.
I stared at the incomplete number, my mind racing.
Someone named Samuel knew the truth.
Someone Daniel had trusted with Harper's life.
I didn't know who Samuel was.
But for the first time since finding the bruises...
May you like
I finally had a living lead.
End of Chapter 4
