As the last car disappeared down the rain-slicked road, the burdens of the day pressed heavily on my shoulders. The house felt vast and empty, my footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floors. Memories of Richard flashed with every corner I turned, like a ghost lingering in the spaces we once filled together. The thought of facing the children—it was too much, too soon. I needed answers first.
I made my way to Richard’s study, the room still carrying the faint scent of his cologne. The desk loomed in the dim light, a sentinel of secrets. I hesitated, my hand hovering above the drawer that was now the focal point of mystery. The image from the text replayed in my mind, and I steeled myself for whatever I might find.
The drawer creaked open, revealing a jumble of papers and stationery. I traced my fingers along the edge, feeling for the hidden compartment. My heart raced, thumping loudly in the quiet room. And then, there it was—a cleverly disguised latch. With a gentle tug, the compartment slid open.
Inside, nestled between old photographs and forgotten letters, was a cream-colored envelope. It was thick, sealed, and addressed to me in Richard’s familiar handwriting. Trembling, I opened it, revealing a will markedly different from the one my children had shown me.
The will provided for everyone: the children, of course, but also family members who had been left out of the first version, and a substantial amount to be managed by me. This was the Richard I knew—a man who cared deeply for all those in his life.
But why hide it? And why the cryptic message suggesting he was alive? My mind swirled with possibilities. Had Richard sensed danger? Or had he uncovered something about our children—something I had been too blind to see?
As I pondered, the phone buzzed again. The same unknown number. My fingers hesitated before opening the message:
“There are things you don’t know. Meet me at our place tomorrow. Midnight.”
Our place. The secluded cabin by the lake where we often retreated to escape the world. My heart skipped. Could it truly be Richard? Or was I being lured into a trap?
Anxiety gnawed at me, each theory more incredible than the last. My children’s behavior, the urgency of the estate settlement—it all begged for explanation. What had happened to the loving family I thought I knew?
I folded the will back into its envelope, my resolve strengthening. If Richard was alive, I needed to know why this charade was necessary. If not, then I had to uncover who was orchestrating this elaborate deceit.
The night wore on, my mind restless with plans and contingencies. The rain drummed softly against the windows, a steady lullaby that was both comforting and foreboding. Tomorrow, I would go to the cabin. And whatever awaited me there, I had to face it alone.
With a determined breath, I placed the envelope in my safe, then turned out the light. The path ahead was veiled in uncertainty, but deep down, I knew I had to take the first step. For Richard. For myself. For the truth.
