PART5

Daniel put his arm around her shoulders.

Ethan had fallen asleep against my side, exhausted by the long afternoon.

I brushed his hair away from his forehead.

He looked so small.

For three days, I’d been trying to figure out how to raise my son without his mother.

Now I couldn’t even explain to him whether the goodbye we’d shared was truly the end.

I carried him to the car while Daniel helped Margaret gather her belongings.

Before we left, I looked back toward the building where the specialists were continuing their work.

“Laura,” I whispered, “whatever happened, I’m going to find the truth.”

The rain had stopped, leaving the cemetery paths dark and shining beneath the evening lights.

I drove home slowly.

Ethan slept in the back seat, his small hand resting against the window.

When we arrived, I carried him upstairs and tucked him into bed.

He stirred just before I pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

“Daddy?”

“I’m here.”

“Did the doctors find Mommy?”

I sat beside him.

“They’re still trying to understand what happened.”

He looked at me with tired, solemn eyes.

“Okay.”

Then he reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a small folded piece of paper.

“Mommy gave me this.”

My entire body went still.

“What is it?”

“I found it in her bedside drawer before the funeral. I wanted to give it to you, but everybody was crying, and I forgot.”

He handed it to me.

The paper had been folded several times. Laura’s handwriting covered the outside, slightly uneven, as though she’d written it in a hurry.

Michael—please read this if anything happens to me.

For several seconds, I couldn’t move.

I knew Laura’s handwriting as well as I knew my own name. I had seen it on grocery lists, birthday cards, notes tucked into my lunch bag, and messages she’d left on the kitchen counter.

This was unmistakably hers.

My fingers trembled as I unfolded the paper.

Inside was a short message.

Michael, I need you to trust me. Something is wrong, and I don’t know whom to trust. If I can’t explain everything to you myself, look inside the blue box in the back of our bedroom closet. Please don’t let anyone take it.

Beneath the message was a date.

The date was two days before Laura died.

I read it again.

Then a third time.

“Daddy?” Ethan whispered.

I looked at him.

“Why did Mommy write that?”

I struggled to answer.

“I don’t know, buddy.”

“Was she scared?”

I looked down at the note, remembering Daniel’s story about the man who had made Laura cry.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I think she might have been.”

Ethan reached for my hand.

“Are you going to find the box?”

I squeezed his fingers.

“Yes.”

After making sure Ethan was comfortable, I returned to our bedroom.

Laura’s side of the bed remained untouched. Her reading glasses sat on the nightstand beside a half-finished novel. A cardigan she’d worn that week still hung over the back of her chair.

Everything looked ordinary.

Everything looked like it belonged to someone who would return at any moment.

I stood in the closet for several seconds before moving the storage containers and old suitcases stacked along the back wall.

Then I found it.

A small blue metal box, tucked behind a winter blanket.

It was locked.

I carried it to the bed and examined it under the lamp.

There was no key attached, and I didn’t want to damage anything Laura might have carefully stored inside.

I searched the closet shelf and checked the drawer where she kept spare buttons, batteries, and household documents.

Nothing.

Then I remembered the little ceramic dish she kept beside her jewelry box.

Laura always placed her spare keys there.

I returned to the dresser and lifted the dish.

Beneath it lay a tiny silver key.

My breath caught.

It fit the lock.

I turned it slowly.

The box opened with a soft click.

Inside were several envelopes, a small flash drive, printed medical documents, and a photograph.

The photograph showed Laura standing outside a building I didn’t recognize. Beside her stood a man in a dark coat, his face turned slightly away from the camera.

On the back, Laura had written five words.

The man who knows everything.

I sat down heavily on the bed.

For several minutes, I couldn’t bring myself to examine anything else.

Then I opened the first envelope.

It contained copies of medical documents, along with a handwritten list of dates and brief notes about conversations Laura had apparently recorded for herself.

One line made my stomach tighten.

He said the results would disappear. I told him I wouldn’t cooperate.

I stared at the words until they blurred.

Who was he?

What results?

And why had Laura been afraid to tell me?

I reached for the next envelope.

But before I could open it, my phone vibrated.

An unknown number appeared on the screen.

I nearly ignored it.

Then a message arrived.

Michael, I know you found Laura’s blue box.

My blood ran cold.

I looked toward the bedroom door, suddenly conscious of how quiet the house had become.

Another message appeared.

If you want to protect your son, stop looking into your wife’s death.

I read the words twice.

Then I looked at the photograph again.

The man beside Laura stood outside an unfamiliar building, his face partially hidden.

And for the first time since my wife had died, I understood that the questions surrounding her final days might reach far beyond a medical mistake.

Someone knew about the box.

Someone knew I’d found it.

And someone was desperate for me to stop asking questions.

I picked up my phone and photographed the messages, resisting the urge to reply. Then I secured the documents and contacted Investigator Miller using the number she’d given me.

I wasn’t going to confront anyone.

I wasn’t going to take reckless chances.

But I wasn’t going to abandon the search for the truth, either.

As I waited for her response, I heard a soft knock at the bedroom door.

Ethan stood there in his pajamas, holding the small white flower he’d carried at his mother’s funeral.

“Daddy?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…