Chương 6
The back had writing on it.
A date.
And a name.
I turned it over.
“Who is Daniel Voss?” Alora asked.
I stared at the handwriting.
I knew the name.
But I did not know why.
Detective Hale noticed my reaction.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“No.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was not completely true.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind, buried beneath years of avoiding the past, something moved.
A memory.
Not of a person.
Of a conversation.
A man standing in our driveway.
My father angry.
My mother crying.
A suitcase near the front door.
I had been eleven.
I had been watching from the stairs.
My father had looked up and seen me.
Then he had said something I forgot until that moment.
“Thane, go back to your room.”
Not because he was angry.
Because he was afraid.
I dropped the photograph onto the table.
“I’ve seen him.”
Detective Hale leaned forward.
“When?”
“When I was a kid.”
Alora looked at me.
“You never told me that.”
“Because I forgot.”
But I knew that was not true.
I had not forgotten.
I had buried it.
Detective Hale pushed the photograph closer.
“Mr. Sterling, I need you to think carefully.”
His voice became quieter.
“People often remember pieces of traumatic events without understanding their importance.”
I stared at the photograph.
“What was my father involved in?”
Nobody answered.
And that silence told me more than any explanation could have.
The detective finally spoke.
“We are still investigating.”
I nodded.
“But you know something.”
He looked at me.
“I know your family has been protecting a story for a long time.”
Outside the station, the sky had turned gray.
Alora and I sat in the car without starting the engine.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Then she said,
“You’re scared.”
I looked at the steering wheel.
“Yes.”
It was the first time I admitted it.
Not anger.
Not confusion.
Fear.
Because if my mother had lied about my father’s death, then the foundation of my entire life had been built on something unstable.
Alora leaned her head against the seat.
“What are you afraid you’ll find?”
I looked toward the station doors.
“I’m afraid I’ll find out everyone I trusted was protecting me from the truth.”
She was quiet.
Then she said,
“And what if the truth is worse?”
I closed my eyes.
That was the question.
Not whether my family had lied.
They had.
The question was how much of my life had been shaped by the lie.
The question stayed with me all the way home.
Not because I did not have an answer.
Because I had too many.
The house looked different when we returned.
Nothing had changed physically since that morning.
The broken safe was still covered with a temporary sheet.
The police tape around the damaged area had already been removed.
The furniture sat where it belonged.
But a place could lose its innocence without losing anything else.
Alora went upstairs to rest.
I stayed downstairs.
I stood in the kitchen for almost twenty minutes doing nothing except staring at the coffee machine.
It was the same machine we bought after our second anniversary.
She had wanted the expensive one.
I told her it was ridiculous to spend that much money on something that made coffee.
She told me I spent more on business lunches with people I disliked.
She was right.
I bought the machine the next day.
A small memory.
A normal memory.
That was what I missed most.
Normal.
I opened a cabinet and found two mugs sitting side by side.
Mine had a small crack near the handle.
Alora had told me to throw it away months ago.
I never did.
She said I kept broken things too long.
At the time, I laughed.
Now the sentence felt heavier.
My phone buzzed.
I expected another unknown number.
Instead, it was Sloan.
I stared at her name.
A year ago, I would have answered immediately.
I would have worried about whether she was upset.
I would have wondered if I was being too harsh.
Now I let it ring once.
Then I answered.
“Thane.”
Her voice sounded smaller than I remembered.
Not the confident voice from last night.
Not the desperate voice from the bedroom.
Just Sloan.
My sister.
“I need to talk to you.”
I leaned against the counter.
“About what?”
A pause.
“I know you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then why do you sound like that?”
I looked toward the stairs.
Because I was tired.
Because my wife had spent the night afraid inside our own home.
Because the person on the phone was someone I used to protect without thinking.
“I don’t know what I feel yet.”
She became quiet.
That answer hurt her more than anger would have.
Good.
Maybe she needed to feel something real.
“I didn’t know Mom was going to hurt Alora.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“But you knew she was breaking into my house.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Why?”
“I thought we were getting documents.”
“What documents?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost laughed.
“You broke into my safe without knowing what you were looking for?”
“She told me it was important.”
“Who?”
“Mom.”
Of course.
I closed my eyes.
Sloan had spent her entire life standing behind my mother.
Not because she was weak.
Because she was afraid.
“Did she tell you about Dad?”
The silence changed instantly.
That was the answer.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“Sloan.”
“I don’t know everything.”
The way she said it made my chest tighten.
“You know something.”
She exhaled.
“When I was younger, I found some of Mom’s old papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I was sixteen.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
“I was looking for my birth certificate.”
I said nothing.
“She kept documents in this old wooden box. I found letters.”
“From Dad?”
May you like
“Yes.”
The kitchen suddenly felt colder.
