I opened it. Inside was a letter:
If you are reading this, know that he is lying to you. You don’t know what really happened the night of the accident… After Daniel lost his leg, something in him changed. He was angry. Controlling. I felt trapped in that house with two newborns. I didn’t abandon my daughters. I was forced to run before things got worse. He will never tell you that part. Act as usual. Don’t let him know you found this. If you want the truth, call me.
At the bottom was a phone number.
My fingers trembled. Ink from ten years ago doesn’t smudge—but this did. The paper was crisp, the ink fresh. Someone had placed this envelope recently.
Had Susan returned? Was Daniel’s story a carefully curated lie?
When Daniel came home, I handed him the letter. His brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment. “What is this supposed to be?”
“The ink smudged. The paper is new. She was in our house, Daniel.”
He clenched his jaw. “I should’ve known she’d try something like this. She contacted me a month ago. Wanted to see the girls. I told her I needed to think about it.”
I pointed to the letter. “Well, she has a number now.”
“She must have slipped in when I left the side door unlocked,” he said. “But why? What is she hoping to gain?”
“She wants a phone call,” I replied. “So let’s give her one.”
Two days later, we met Susan at a café. I recognized her from an old photo. When she saw Daniel, her posture stiffened.
