PART 2 — Camille Showed Me What My Father Had Been Hiding
I stared at her phone.
For several seconds, I couldn’t understand what I was looking at.
It was a photograph.
My father.
Standing outside an apartment building.
But he wasn’t alone.
Beside him was a woman I didn’t recognize.
Camille zoomed in.
“That’s the woman your father dated before me.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“She disappeared too?”
Camille nodded.
“Every woman did.”
I looked at her.
“Then why did you tell me not to contact you?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because I was scared, Maya.”
“Scared of my father?”
She shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
She swiped to another photograph.
This time, it was a screenshot of a message.
The sender’s name was saved as Daniel.
My father’s name was Daniel.
The message said:
“If you care about your safety, stop seeing him.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Who sent this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did you believe it?”
“Because there were more.”
She showed me dozens of messages.
Different numbers.
Different dates.
But the same warning.
Stay away from Daniel.
You don’t know who he really is.
Ask him what happened twelve years ago.
I froze.
Twelve years.
The exact year my mother died.
“Camille…”
She looked at me.
“There’s something your father never told you.”
“What?”
She swallowed.
“The night your mother died wasn’t an accident.”
My entire body went cold.
“What are you talking about?”
Camille looked around the parking lot before lowering her voice.
“Every woman he dated eventually received the same information.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What information?”
“That your father was responsible for your mother’s death.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He loved my mother.”
“I know.”
“He spent twelve years grieving her.”
“I know.”
“Then why would anyone say that?”
Camille’s voice trembled.
“Because someone has been making sure every woman who gets close to him believes it.”
I stared at her.
“Who?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she opened one final photograph.
It showed a file.
An old police report.
The victim’s name was my mother.
The date was twelve years ago.
And under witness statement, there was a name I recognized immediately.
My father’s.
But there was something else.
A handwritten note appeared at the bottom.
Camille pointed to it.
“Read that.”
I leaned closer.
My heart nearly stopped.
It said:
“Subject changed his story three times.”
I shook my head.
“That can’t be right.”
Camille reached into her bag and pulled out a second folder.
“I found this at the courthouse yesterday.”
“What is it?”
“Your mother’s original case file.”
I opened it.
The official report said my mother had died in a car accident.
My father had been driving.
But the final page contained a detail that had never been mentioned in our family.
The brakes had been tampered with.
I looked at Camille.
“My father knew?”
She nodded slowly.
“He knew someone wanted your mother dead.”
“Then why wasn’t anyone arrested?”
“Because the person who reported the brake problem disappeared before the investigation was completed.”
My hands began shaking.
“Who?”
Camille looked directly into my eyes.
“Your mother’s younger sister.”
My aunt.
The woman who had supposedly moved overseas shortly after my mother’s funeral.
The woman I hadn’t seen in twelve years.
I felt dizzy.
Then Camille’s phone buzzed.
A new message.
She looked at the screen.
Her face immediately went white.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward me.
The message contained only six words.
Stop digging, Maya. He already knows.
I looked toward the parking lot.
A black sedan was parked across the street.
Its engine was running.
The windows were dark.
And then my phone rang.
Dad.
I answered.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Finally, his voice came through.
“Maya…”
I swallowed.
“Yes?”
His voice cracked.
“You need to come home.”
“Why?”
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered:
“Because your mother wasn’t the woman who was supposed to die that night.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve spent twelve years trying to protect you.”
“From who?”
His answer came so quietly I almost missed it.
“From the person who’s been making every woman disappear.”
Then the call ended.
And Camille grabbed my arm.
Because across the street…
the black sedan had started moving.
And the person sitting behind that dark window was someone neither of us expected to see.
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