Chương 7
Nobody spoke much.
The silence was not peaceful.
It was the kind of silence people created when every possible sentence felt dangerous.
Ethan kept both hands on the steering wheel.
At a red light, he noticed his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He looked older than he had that morning.
A few hours earlier, he had been preparing to marry someone he believed would help rebuild his family.
Now he was driving toward a place his dead wife had hidden from him.
A place that might explain why.
The apartment building was older than the luxury neighborhoods surrounding it.
It was the kind of place Claire would have liked.
Not impressive.
Not designed to impress anyone.
Just quiet.
Ethan parked along the street.
Sophie looked out the window.
“Mom came here?”
Natalie answered before Ethan could.
“Yes.”
Sophie turned toward her.
“Why?”
Natalie looked uncomfortable.
“I think she needed somewhere that was only hers.”
Sophie thought about that.
“She had us.”
The sentence was innocent.
But it hurt.
Natalie looked down.
Ethan saw the reaction.
For all the mistakes she had made, there was still a part of her that understood what she had damaged.
They entered the building through a narrow lobby with faded paint and old mailboxes.
The elevator made a loud mechanical sound as it carried them upward.
Nobody spoke.
When the doors opened, Ethan felt a strange pressure in his chest.
The hallway looked ordinary.
That almost made it worse.
Secrets rarely existed in dramatic places.
Sometimes they waited behind normal doors.
Natalie stopped in front of apartment 4B.
She reached into her purse.
Then she hesitated.
Ethan noticed.
“Where did you get the key?”
Natalie looked at it in her hand.
“Claire gave it to me.”
“When?”
“A week before she died.”
Ethan stared.
“And you never thought I should know?”
Natalie closed her fingers around the key.
“She asked me not to.”
The answer created another wound.
Because Claire’s voice still mattered.
Even after death.
Even when it caused pain.
Ethan stepped closer.
“What exactly did she ask you to do?”
Natalie looked at the door.
“She said if something happened, I should wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“She didn’t tell me everything.”
Ethan studied her.
For once, he believed her.
Not because she deserved trust.
Because her fear looked genuine.
Natalie unlocked the door.
The apartment smelled faintly like old books and lavender.
Ethan stopped at the entrance.
He knew that smell.
Claire used the same candle in their bedroom.
The realization hit him unexpectedly.
He had expected evidence.
Documents.
Secrets.
Something cold and distant.
He had not expected pieces of her.
A sweater folded over the back of a chair.
A mug in the kitchen cabinet.
A notebook beside a lamp.
Small things that made absence feel more painful.
Sophie walked inside slowly.
“She was here alone?”
Ethan nodded.
“Yes.”
The apartment was not large.
A living room.
A small kitchen.
A bedroom.
A desk near the window.
On the desk were stacks of papers arranged carefully.
Claire’s handwriting covered several folders.
Ethan moved toward them.
Natalie stayed near the doorway.
“You should know something.”
He looked back.
“What?”
“I didn’t destroy anything.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you thought it.”
Ethan looked at the apartment.
“I thought you were hiding something.”
“I was.”
The honesty surprised him.
“But I didn’t know what to do.”
He looked at her.
“That has been your excuse all day.”
Natalie accepted the criticism.
“I know.”
She walked closer.
“I kept thinking if I could figure out what Claire wanted, I could fix things.”
“You can’t fix things by taking them from people.”
“I know.”
Her answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
Like she had repeated it to herself many times.
Ethan turned back toward the desk.
The first folder contained medical records.
The second contained financial information.
The third had Sophie’s name written across the front.
His hand stopped.
Natalie noticed.
“That’s the one.”
Ethan looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the one I was afraid of.”
He opened it.
Inside were photographs.
School drawings.
Notes about Sophie’s favorite foods.
The kind of things any mother might collect.
Then he found a page written near the end.
It was dated three weeks before Claire died.
Ethan read it.
I need Ethan to know the truth, but I do not know when he will be ready to hear it.
He stopped.
The words blurred for a second.
Not because he could not read them.
Because he could.
Natalie watched him.
“What does it say?”
He continued.
I have spent months trying to decide whether telling him will protect him or hurt him.
That sentence bothered him.
Claire had never written like that.
She had always been direct.
If she was afraid of hurting him, the truth had to be serious.
He turned the page.
There was a list.
Names.
Dates.
A few notes.
One name appeared more than once.
Natalie.
Ethan looked up.
Natalie immediately noticed.
“I can explain.”
“Please do.”
She took a breath.
“Claire thought someone was watching her.”
The room became still.
“Watching her?”
Natalie nodded.
“She never knew who.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Natalie looked at the floor.
“Because she thought you would try to solve it.”
“That’s what I do.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And she didn’t want her last months to become about fear.”
Ethan looked at the papers.
The idea felt impossible.
Not because Claire could not have been afraid.
Because he hated that she had been afraid alone.
“What did she think someone wanted?”
Natalie moved closer.
“She thought someone was looking for something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Ethan looked at the folders.
“Then why are you afraid?”
Natalie hesitated.
Then she pointed toward the desk.
“There.”
Behind a stack of papers was a small black notebook.
Ethan picked it up.
The cover was worn.
May you like
Not Claire’s handwriting.
Someone else had written on the first page.
