Chương 3
“Apparently, she knew her for much longer than that.”
The words settled between us.
I hated how easily my entire history had changed in less than an hour.
I had spent years believing I understood where I came from.
Now I was learning that my own mother had left behind a story I had never been allowed to read.
“Did Mrs. Higgins have family?” I asked.
“She had a son.”
“Where is he?”
“California.”
“Does he know?”
“Not yet.”
That surprised me.
“Why not?”
“Because we are still notifying relatives.”
I looked down at the key attached to the string.
“What does this open?”
“We don’t know.”
“You found the letter, but you didn’t check the key?”
His expression changed slightly.
“There are procedures.”
I almost smiled.
“Of course there are.”
He looked like he wanted to argue.
Then he stopped.
Maybe because he knew I was right to be frustrated.
Maybe because he had a mother too.
Maybe because he was tired.
“Claire,” he said, “I need you to understand something.”
I looked up.
“Mrs. Higgins’ death is not being treated as suspicious because of this letter.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because of the timing.”
“What timing?”
“She wrote the letter yesterday.”
My skin went cold.
“How do you know that?”
“Because she dated it.”
I looked at the paper again.
I had been so focused on the words that I had missed the small date in the corner.
Yesterday.
The exact day I mowed her lawn.
The exact day she decided to trust me.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“People don’t usually write goodbye letters because someone mows their lawn.”
“No.”
His answer was too honest.
It made my stomach twist.
“What are you not telling me?”
He looked at the photograph again.
“When we entered her house this morning, she had your picture on her desk.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“Along with several documents.”
“What documents?”
He hesitated.
“Documents connected to your family.”
I stood up too quickly.
The room tilted for a second.
The sheriff reached forward instinctively.
“I’m fine.”
“You should sit down.”
“I said I’m fine.”
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
The baby moved again.
I put my hand over my stomach and closed my eyes.
I hated that fear made me angry.
I hated that everyone kept seeing me as fragile.
Pregnant.
Alone.
A woman who needed protecting.
I had spent months trying to prove I could survive.
Even if I was not sure I believed it anymore.
The sheriff lowered his hand.
“Sorry.”
I opened my eyes.
“For what?”
“For making this harder.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
Most people apologized because they wanted forgiveness.
He sounded like he was simply acknowledging damage.
“I need to see the house,” I said.
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
That made me look at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Not alone.”
“I didn’t say alone.”
“Even then, we need to finish documenting everything first.”
“So I just sit here while strangers go through the only place where my mother’s secrets are hidden?”
His silence answered me.
I walked toward the door.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
“You are eight months pregnant.”
“Thirty-four weeks.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“I’m thirty-four weeks pregnant.”
It was a strange thing to correct.
A pointless thing.
But somehow, I needed him to understand that I was still a person.
Not just a situation.
“Thirty-four weeks,” he repeated.
“I know you’re scared.”
“No.”
The word came out before I could stop it.
Then I softened.
“I am scared.”
I looked at the blue house.
“But I’m tired of being scared.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then the sheriff nodded once.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“What happens after ten minutes?”
“I take you over there.”
“Why?”
He looked at the photograph in my hand.
“Because whatever Mrs. Higgins was trying to protect, she wanted you to find it.”
The sentence stayed with me.
Not because it comforted me.
Because it frightened me.
A person did not hide something for decades unless they believed the truth could hurt someone.
And now that truth was waiting next door.
The truth was waiting next door.
I sat at my kitchen table for ten minutes that felt like an entire afternoon.
I watched Sheriff Dalton step outside and speak quietly with the deputy near the patrol car.
I watched Mrs. Parker from across the street pretend to water flowers that did not need watering.
She had been doing that for nearly five minutes without moving past the same three plants.
Under different circumstances, I might have found it funny.
Yesterday, I would have.
Yesterday, I was still the woman who worried about overdue electricity bills and whether the baby would inherit her father’s stubbornness.
Today, I was sitting in my kitchen holding a photograph that suggested my mother had been part of a secret I had never known existed.
When Sheriff Dalton returned, he knocked even though the door was open.
That small gesture bothered me.
It felt too respectful for a situation that had already taken so much from me.
“Ready?” he asked.
No.
I was not ready.
But I nodded anyway.
The walk from my house to Mrs. Higgins’ was less than thirty seconds.
I had made that walk hundreds of times.
I had walked it carrying borrowed sugar.
I had walked it returning packages accidentally delivered to her address.
I had walked it during Christmas when everyone on the street brought her food because she refused to admit she was lonely.
But I had never walked there knowing the house might contain pieces of my own life.
The front door was open.
That bothered me immediately.
Mrs. Higgins had always locked her doors.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she believed being careless was disrespectful to the people who cared about you.
“She used to tell me that,” I said quietly.
Sheriff Dalton looked over.
“What?”
May you like
“That locks aren’t about keeping bad people out.”
I touched the edge of the door.
