Chương 4
No obvious clue.
Just an old box with a worn brass latch.
Juliette stared at it.
Christopher watched her face instead of the object.
She looked younger for a moment.
Not innocent.
Just younger.
Like someone who had suddenly been reminded of a life she had tried to bury.
“What is it?” he asked.
She did not answer.
“Juliette.”
Her fingers hovered over the latch.
“It belonged to my mother.”
The answer surprised him.
Christopher had heard stories about Juliette's mother.
Not many.
Juliette avoided personal history.
She had always said her childhood was complicated.
He had assumed that meant painful.
Most people had complicated childhoods.
They simply used different words for them.
“Why was it sent here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said it belonged to your mother.”
“I know what I said.”
Her tone sharpened.
Then she immediately softened.
“Sorry.”
Christopher leaned against the desk.
“Open it.”
She looked at him.
“You’re ordering me?”
“No.”
He paused.
“I’m asking why a box from your mother was delivered to my house.”
The question affected her.
Not because it was aggressive.
Because it was reasonable.
Juliette opened the box.
Inside were several photographs.
A folded letter.
And a small silver necklace.
Christopher did not touch anything.
He did not need to.
Juliette’s reaction was enough.
She picked up the letter.
The handwriting on the envelope made her breathing change.
“Who is it from?”
She swallowed.
“My mother.”
Christopher waited.
“She died eight years ago.”
The room became still.
“Then how did she send this?”
Juliette looked at the envelope again.
There was no answer on her face.
Only confusion.
She opened the letter carefully.
Christopher looked away.
He did not want to invade a private moment.
But then he heard her breathing stop.
Not slow.
Stop.
“Juliette?”
She folded the paper immediately.
Too quickly.
“What does it say?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at her.
She gave a small laugh that contained no humor.
“Great.”
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like every answer is a trap.”
Christopher looked at the letter.
“Maybe because every answer you give me creates another question.”
She flinched.
The reaction was small.
But real.
For the first time since the accident, Christopher saw something beneath the defensiveness.
Exhaustion.
Not the exhaustion of someone caught.
The exhaustion of someone who had been carrying something for a long time.
That did not make him trust her.
It made the situation worse.
Because he had spent years learning that people were rarely one thing.
Good people made terrible choices.
Hurt people hurt others.
Scared people lied.
“I need to leave for a while,” Juliette said.
Christopher straightened.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“No?”
“Not until I know what happened yesterday.”
Her expression hardened again.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I’m not keeping you here.”
“You’re making it clear that leaving makes me look guilty.”
“Does it?”
The question was quiet.
That was why it landed.
Juliette looked at the floor.
A few seconds passed.
“I loved Emma.”
Christopher felt anger rise.
Not because he believed she was lying.
Because he did believe she meant it.
And that made everything more confusing.
“Love doesn’t stop people from causing harm.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Is that what you believe?”
He did not answer.
He did not need to.
She saw it.
“You think I’m like everyone else who left you.”
The sentence caught him off guard.
Christopher rarely talked about Emma’s mother.
Not because he was hiding anything.
Because grief had become something private.
Something he carried carefully.
Juliette knew that.
She had learned his wounds the same way she learned everything else.
Quietly.
“She didn’t leave me,” he said.
Juliette looked down.
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“She died.”
The room changed.
Christopher hated how quickly the pain returned.
A simple sentence.
A fact he had lived with for years.
Still capable of cutting.
Juliette looked genuinely sorry.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.”
He looked toward the window.
“You shouldn’t have.”
Another silence.
Then his phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar.
Christopher almost ignored it.
Something stopped him.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice answered.
“Mr. Hale?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Andrew Mercer.”
Christopher waited.
“I’m calling about Juliette.”
His eyes moved toward her.
She noticed.
“What about her?”
The man hesitated.
Not long.
Just enough.
“I think you need to know what happened before she came into your life.”
Christopher felt Juliette watching him.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who made the mistake of believing her.”
Juliette stood immediately.
“Christopher, don’t.”
The words came before she could stop them.
That was the moment everything changed.
Not the phone call.
Not the stranger’s accusation.
Her reaction.
She had not asked who Andrew Mercer was.
She had not said the man was lying.
She had not asked Christopher to ignore a stranger.
She had said his name.
And told him not to.
Christopher slowly turned toward her.
“Who is Andrew Mercer?”
Juliette said nothing.
The silence answered first.
On the phone, the man spoke again.
“She didn’t tell you about me, did she?”
Christopher looked at Juliette.
Her face had lost all color.
“Mr. Hale, you need to listen carefully.”
Juliette stepped forward.
“Christopher, hang up.”
He raised one hand.
Not aggressively.
Just enough to stop her.
It was the first time he had ever done that.
“Why?”
She stopped.
“Because he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
The answer came too fast.
Christopher felt something inside him settle.
Not relief.
Not certainty.
Something colder.
A need to find out.
“What happened between you and Juliette?” he asked.
There was a long pause on the phone.
Then Andrew said quietly.
“She tried to take my daughter too.”
Christopher looked at Juliette.
And for the first time since Emma fell into the pool, he wondered if the accident had not been the beginning of the danger.
Maybe it was the moment the danger had finally been exposed.
May you like
The sentence remained hanging between them.
Christopher kept the phone against his ear, but his attention was no longer on the man speaking.
