CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
The Woman in the Photograph
The hospital lights went out.
For three seconds, Willa heard nothing but the rapid beeping of the fetal monitor.
Then the emergency lights came on.
Red.
Dim.
Unnatural.
A nurse rushed toward the bed.
“Stay still.”
“What happened?” Willa asked.
“Power interruption.”
“The baby?”
“We're checking.”
The nurse pressed a hand against Willa's abdomen.
Another nurse entered carrying a portable monitor.
Nathan stood near the door.
He hadn't moved.
His face was turned toward the dark corridor.
“Nathan.”
He looked back.
“What?”
“Where's Adrian?”
“I don't know.”
“You were looking for him.”
“No.”
“You were.”
Nathan's jaw tightened.
“Willa, right now the baby matters.”
“Then tell me why my mother's letter has Adrian's name on it.”
He stared at her.
The nurse looked between them.
“Is there something I should know?”
“No,” Nathan said.
“Yes,” Willa said at the same time.
The nurse frowned.
Willa closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry. I just—”
“Don't worry about anything else right now.”
The fetal heartbeat continued.
Strong.
Fast.
Alive.
The nurse smiled slightly.
“There. That's what we want.”
Willa exhaled.
Nathan approached the bed.
“I need to make a call.”
“To Adrian?”
“To the police.”
“Why?”
“Because someone tampered with the power.”
Willa looked at him.
“You think someone did this?”
“I don't know.”
“But you think it.”
“Yes.”
He took his phone from his pocket.
The screen lit his face.
Three missed calls.
All from the same number.
He didn't recognize it.
Or at least he pretended not to.
Willa noticed.
“Who is that?”
“I don't know.”
“Call it.”
Nathan looked at the number.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever it is knows I'm here.”
Willa's heart began beating faster.
“Then maybe they know where I am too.”
Nathan put the phone away.
“I'll handle it.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“This time, you tell me everything.”
Nathan was silent.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
He pulled out a small envelope.
Not the same one as before.
This one was black.
Willa stared at it.
“What is that?”
“The photograph.”
Her breath caught.
“You have it?”
“I've had it for years.”
“You said the photographs were in the box.”
“Most of them were.”
“And this one?”
“Miriam gave it to me.”
Willa reached for it.
Nathan hesitated.
Then handed it over.
She opened the envelope.
A photograph slid into her palm.
It was old.
The colors had faded into soft browns and grays.
Four people stood outside a stone building.
Willa recognized her mother immediately.
She had seen that face thousands of times in photographs.
Her dark hair was pulled back.
She wore a cream coat.
Beside her stood Miriam.
Older than Willa remembered.
But unmistakable.
Behind them was Adrian.
Young.
Much younger.
And beside him—
Willa stopped.
The world seemed to tilt.
“That's impossible.”
Nathan didn't answer.
Willa brought the photograph closer.
The man beside Adrian was unmistakable.
Calder Rowe.
Her grandfather.
The founder of the Rowe empire.
The man whose portrait hung in every major Rowe property.
The man whose funeral Willa had attended as a child.
The man who had supposedly died twenty years ago.
She turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
A date.
October 17, 2015.
Willa stared at it.
“No.”
Nathan watched her.
“My mother died in 2012.”
“I know.”
“Calder died in 2006.”
“I know.”
“Then this photograph doesn't exist.”
Nathan's voice was quiet.
“It does.”
Willa looked at the four figures again.
Her mother was smiling.
Not the careful smile from family photographs.
A real smile.
She looked happy.
Alive.
Healthy.
Standing beside a man who had been dead for nine years.
Willa's fingers began shaking.
“Where was this taken?”
Nathan pointed toward the building.
“The Rowe private archive.”
“Why would they be there?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“You always say you don't know.”
“Because Miriam never told me everything.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That your mother was trying to recover something.”
“What?”
“The original trust.”
Willa looked at the photograph.
“And Calder?”
“Miriam said he had something your mother wanted.”
“What?”
Nathan didn't answer.
“What did he have?”
“The original amendment.”
Willa looked at him.
“So it was real.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother knew about it.”
“Yes.”
“Did she steal it?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“She found it.”
“And?”
“Someone took it from her.”
“Who?”
Nathan looked at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
Willa almost laughed.
“You have got to stop saying that.”
“I wish I could.”
She looked at the date again.
Three years after her mother had supposedly died.
Her throat tightened.
“Did my mother contact you?”
Nathan hesitated.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“2016.”
Willa stared at him.
“You spoke to her?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
“A hotel.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Mercer.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
“She was alive.”
“Yes.”
“And you kept that from me.”
“Yes.”
Willa's eyes filled.
“Why?”
Nathan looked devastated.
“Because she said someone was trying to kill you.”
“But I was already an adult.”
“She didn't care.”
“Why would she abandon me?”
“She didn't.”
“Then where was she?”
Nathan looked at the photograph.
“She was hiding.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
Willa slammed the photograph onto the blanket.
“You knew enough to lie to me for ten years.”
“I didn't know where she was.”
“But you knew she was alive.”
“For four years.”
Willa stared at him.
“Four?”
Nathan nodded.
“She contacted me again in 2019.”
“And?”
“She disappeared.”
“What does that mean?”
“I never heard from her again.”
Willa looked at the photograph.
Her mother was still smiling.
That smile suddenly felt cruel.
Because it belonged to a woman Willa had mourned for fourteen years.
A woman who had apparently been alive while Willa grew up believing she had been abandoned by death.
“Why didn't she come home?”
Nathan lowered his eyes.
“She couldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed the person who killed her father would kill you too.”
Willa's breathing slowed.
“My father?”
Nathan nodded.
“Your mother didn't trust anyone.”
“Except Miriam.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“No.”
Willa looked at him.
“No?”
“She trusted me enough to use me.”
The words were painful.
“But not enough to tell you the truth.”
Nathan said nothing.
Willa studied the photograph again.
Something bothered her.
She pointed to the building.
“What's that?”
“The archive.”
“No.”
She pointed behind her mother.
“That's a reflection.”
Nathan leaned closer.
In the dark glass behind the four people, a fifth figure was visible.
A woman.
Standing inside the building.
Watching them.
Willa squinted.
“Who is she?”
Nathan's expression changed.
“I don't know.”
“You recognize her.”
“No.”
“You do.”
Nathan took the photograph.
His fingers froze.
“That's impossible.”
“Who is she?”
He didn't answer.
“Nathan.”
His face had gone pale.
“That looks like my mother.”
Willa stared at him.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother died when you were a child.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“2008.”
The photograph was dated 2015.
Willa whispered:
“Then she was alive too.”
Nathan shook his head.
“No.”
“But that's her.”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I said she looks like her.”
Willa looked at the woman in the reflection.
There was something about her.
The posture.
The way she stood.
The angle of her head.
She looked as if she knew exactly who was taking the photograph.
And as if she wanted to be seen.
At 4:42 a.m., Nathan left the hospital.
He promised Willa he would return within an hour.
She didn't believe him.
But she let him go.
Not because she trusted him.
Because she needed to know what he would do when he thought she wasn't watching.
The moment the door closed behind him, Willa reached for her phone.
She called the only number she had.
Adrian.
It rang twice.
Then disconnected.
She called again.
This time, someone answered.
“Willa?”
His voice was low.
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Because I need the truth.”
“About what?”
“The photograph.”
Silence.
“You saw it.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
“I know my mother was alive in 2015.”
Adrian breathed slowly.
“You shouldn't have that photograph.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves too much.”
“What does it prove?”
“That the timeline is false.”
“What timeline?”
“The one they gave you.”
“Who?”
Adrian didn't answer.
“Adrian.”
“I can't talk.”
“Then listen.”
“What?”
“My mother wrote your name.”
Silence.
“She told me to ask about you.”
His breathing changed.
“Where are you?”
“The hospital.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Don't tell anyone I called.”
“Why?”
“Because if Celeste knows I spoke to you, she'll—”
“What?”
The line went dead.
Willa stared at the phone.
A second later, a text arrived.
DO NOT TRUST NATHAN.
She read it twice.
Then the message disappeared.
Deleted remotely.
Willa's heart began pounding.
Someone was watching.
Across town, Nathan stood outside the Rowe private archive.
The building was closed.
Its windows were dark.
He entered a security code.
The door opened.
Inside, the alarm system was silent.
Too silent.
Nathan stopped.
The archive was supposed to have twenty-four-hour security.
He walked deeper into the building.
“Hello?”
No answer.
He reached the vault corridor.
The steel door was open.
His stomach dropped.
He ran.
The private vault room had been emptied.
Shelves stood open.
Drawers had been pulled out.
Documents were scattered across the floor.
And in the center of the room was the wooden box Miriam had described.
Broken.
Empty.
Nathan picked it up.
The brass lock had been forced.
He turned it over.
There was something carved into the bottom.
A single word.
WILLA.
His phone rang.
He answered immediately.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“You're too late.”
Nathan froze.
“Who is this?”
“You should have left the box alone.”
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
“The documents?”
“Gone.”
“The photographs?”
A pause.
“Most of them.”
Nathan's blood ran cold.
“What do you mean, most?”
“There's one you didn't find.”
Nathan looked around the vault.
“Which one?”
The caller laughed softly.
“The one with the woman.”
Nathan's grip tightened around the phone.
“Who is she?”
“You already know.”
“No.”
“You just don't want Willa to know.”
The line went dead.
Nathan immediately called Willa.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Then his phone vibrated.
A photograph had been sent to him.
He opened it.
His blood turned cold.
It was the same photograph Willa had seen.
His mother.
Miriam.
Adrian.
Calder.
But this version was different.
Someone had enlarged the reflection in the glass.
The woman was clearer now.
And beside her—
was another figure.
A child.
A little girl.
Approximately six years old.
Nathan stared.
He recognized the girl.
He had seen that face in old photographs.
Willa.
But that was impossible.
The photograph had been taken in 2015.
Willa had been twenty-two.
The child in the reflection was six.
Nathan zoomed in.
The girl's hand was holding something.
A small brass key.
The same key Willa had found beneath the false bottom of Miriam's stationery case.
Nathan's phone slipped from his hand.
Behind him, a voice spoke.
“You finally understand.”
Nathan turned.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
His face was pale.
“You.”
Adrian looked at the broken vault.
“They took it.”
Nathan stared at him.
“Who?”
Adrian closed the door.
“The people who have been waiting for Willa to find the key.”
“What is in the box?”
Adrian looked at him.
“The truth.”
“About what?”
Adrian's eyes hardened.
“About why her mother disappeared.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
Adrian shook his head.
“Not here.”
“Where?”
Adrian looked toward the security cameras.
“Somewhere they can't hear us.”
Nathan grabbed his arm.
“You're coming with me.”
Adrian pulled free.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Adrian's voice dropped.
“The box wasn't stolen tonight.”
Nathan frowned.
“What?”
“It was opened three years ago.”
“Then why is it here?”
“Because someone put it back.”
Nathan stared at him.
“Why?”
“To make you believe the evidence was still safe.”
Nathan's face hardened.
“Who?”
Adrian looked at him.
“The same person who gave Willa the key.”
Nathan's stomach turned.
“Miriam?”
Adrian shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Adrian stepped closer.
His voice became barely audible.
“Her mother.”
Nathan froze.
“That isn't possible.”
“I know.”
“Her mother is dead.”
Adrian stared at him.
“That is the lie we've been living with.”
At the hospital, Willa woke to a soft knock.
She opened her eyes.
A nurse stood in the doorway.
“Mrs. Rowe?”
“Yes?”
“There's someone here to see you.”
“Who?”
The nurse hesitated.
“She says she's family.”
Willa frowned.
“Who?”
The nurse stepped aside.
An elderly woman entered.
She wore a dark coat.
Her silver hair was pinned neatly behind her ears.
Willa had never seen her before.
The woman closed the door.
Then looked directly at Willa.
“I knew your mother.”
Willa's heart began pounding.
“Who are you?”
The woman smiled sadly.
“My name is Evelyn.”
“Evelyn what?”
“Evelyn Rowe.”
Willa stared.
The woman walked toward the bed.
“You have your mother's eyes.”
Willa's throat tightened.
“My mother is dead.”
Evelyn's smile disappeared.
“No, sweetheart.”
She leaned closer.
“She was alive when they buried her.”
Willa's blood went cold.
“What?”
Evelyn placed a photograph on the blanket.
Willa looked down.
It was another photograph.
Her mother.
Standing beside a car.
Holding a newborn baby.
Willa stared.
“That baby…”
Evelyn nodded.
“You.”
Willa's eyes filled with tears.
The date on the photograph was written underneath.
December 4, 2002.
Willa looked at the woman.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Evelyn whispered:
“Because your mother didn't leave you.”
“Then why did she disappear?”
“Because she was trying to save you.”
“From whom?”
Evelyn looked toward the door.
Her voice dropped.
“From your father.”
Willa went completely still.
“My father died before I was born.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
She leaned closer.
“That's what they told you.”
Willa's hand tightened around the photograph.
“Who is my father?”
Before Evelyn could answer, the hospital lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went dark.
And somewhere in the corridor, a man shouted:
“Lock the doors!”
Willa looked toward the entrance.
The door slammed shut.
Evelyn grabbed her hand.
“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “do not let Nathan take you out of this hospital.”
Willa stared at her.
“Why?”
Evelyn's eyes filled with fear.
“Because the person who stole the box is already here.”
May you like
The fetal monitor began screaming.
And footsteps stopped outside Willa's door.
