Chapter 2: The Secret Lucas Took to His Grave
My father didn't reach the phone.
The sirens grew louder, and he stopped halfway through his movement, glancing toward the road.
For one second, we stared at each other.
Then Charles straightened his jacket as if he were preparing to welcome guests into his home.
“Emily,” he said, lowering his voice, “give me the phone. You're upsetting yourself.””
I pressed the device against my chest.
“Stay away from me.””
“You're confused. You're in pain. You don't understand what you're saying.””
“You dragged me out of my house.””
“I was trying to make you listen.””
“You pulled me by my hair!””
His eyes flicked toward the neighboring houses.
“Keep your voice down.””
I couldn't believe him.
Even now, with an ambulance approaching and my daughter possibly arriving hours too early, he was worried about the neighbors.
“You should have thought about that before you touched me.””
The ambulance stopped at the curb.
Two paramedics hurried up the walkway carrying equipment. A woman with short brown hair dropped to her knees beside me.
“Hi, sweetheart. I'm Megan. Can you tell me your name?””
“Emily Carter.””
“How many weeks pregnant are you?””
“Thirty-three.””
“Okay, Emily. We're going to take care of you. Are you having contractions?””
“I don't know. My stomach keeps tightening.””
Megan exchanged a glance with her partner.
“Any bleeding?””
“Not that I've seen.””
“Good. Stay with me.””
As the paramedics examined me, my father moved closer.
“I'm her father,” he announced.
“She's been under a lot of stress since her husband died. She has a tendency to exaggerate.””
Megan looked up.
“Sir, I need you to step back.””
“I'm family.””
“And she's our patient. Please give us room.””
Charles opened his mouth, then shut it.
For the first time that afternoon, someone had told him no without looking afraid.
Megan asked whether I wanted him to accompany me to the hospital.
“No,” I said immediately.
My father stared at me.
“Emily, don't be ridiculous.””
“She's answered you,” Megan said firmly.
The paramedics helped me onto the stretcher. A sharp contraction seized my abdomen, and I gasped.
Megan took my hand.
“Breathe slowly. That's it. Look at me, not him.””
I tried.
But as they wheeled me toward the ambulance, I saw Courtney standing behind the living room window, her phone raised to her face.
She wasn't calling for help.
She was watching.
The ambulance doors closed, cutting off the sight of my home.
I began to cry.
Megan adjusted the blanket around my legs.
“Is there someone we can contact for you?””
“My husband's attorney. Samantha Reed.””
“We'll let you call her when we're settled.””
“She knows something about my husband. Something about why he died.””
Megan didn't ask questions. She simply squeezed my hand.
“First, we're going to make sure you and your baby are safe.””
At the hospital, everything became bright lights, clipped instructions, and the rhythmic beeping of monitors.
A nurse placed two sensors against my stomach. One tracked my heartbeat. The other monitored my daughter's.
The first time I heard that tiny, rapid heartbeat, I covered my mouth.
She was still there.
My baby was still fighting.
“Her heart rate looks reassuring,” Dr. Patel told me after examining the monitor.
“But because your membranes have ruptured at thirty-three weeks, we're admitting you. We'll monitor for infection and contractions, and we'll assess whether delivery is necessary.””
“Is she going to be okay?””
He pulled a chair beside the bed.
“Many babies born at this gestation do well with appropriate neonatal care. I can't promise you an outcome, but right now, her heartbeat is encouraging.””
I nodded, gripping the sheet.
“Please don't let anything happen to her.””
“We're going to do everything we can.””
A nurse brought me water and helped me settle against the pillows. My hands were still trembling when I finally called Samantha.
She answered immediately.
“Emily, I've spoken with the hospital. Are you stable?””
“They say the baby's heartbeat is good.””
“Thank God.””
I closed my eyes.
“Samantha, what did you mean when you said Lucas thought someone in my family was responsible for his death?””
She was silent for several seconds.
“Emily, I need to be careful about what I tell you before I see the documents. I don't want to give you a theory and have you mistake it for proof.””
“Did Lucas think my father killed him?””
“No. I didn't say that.””
“But you said—”
“I said Lucas suspected someone in your family was involved in something serious. I don't yet know whether that involved his death directly.””
I stared at the ceiling.
Lucas had died in a car accident on a rainy highway three weeks earlier. The police had told me he lost control on a bend. His vehicle crossed the center line and struck a concrete barrier.
They had found no evidence of another vehicle.
At the funeral, my father had held my shoulder and told me that accidents happened, that I needed to accept what I couldn't change.
Now every word he had spoken felt different.
“Did Lucas know he was in danger?”” I whispered.
“I can't answer that yet. But I can tell you he came to my office twelve days before the accident. He asked me to prepare documents that would protect you and your daughter if anything happened to him.””
Tears slipped into my hair.
“Why didn't he tell me?””
“Perhaps he wanted to protect you. Perhaps he was waiting until he understood the situation. I won't pretend I know his reasons.””
I swallowed.
“What happens now?””
“I'll come to the hospital tomorrow morning. Until then, don't sign anything your father brings you. Don't agree to meet him alone. And don't let anyone convince you to leave the hospital before your doctors approve it.””
“What if he comes here?””
“Tell security immediately.””
She paused.
“Emily, there's one more thing. Your father didn't just request the transfer of the trust funds. He submitted a document claiming Lucas had appointed him as the baby's financial guardian.””
I sat upright so quickly that pain tightened across my abdomen.
“What?””
“He claimed Lucas signed it two days before the accident.””
“Lucas would never do that.””
“I believe you. But belief isn't evidence, which is why we need the original documents.””
“My father isn't even Lucas's relative.””
“Exactly. Which makes the timing particularly suspicious.””
I stared at the wall, trying to understand the scale of what was happening.
My father had thrown me out of my home, knowing I was pregnant. He had tried to seize my husband's estate. Now he was attempting to place himself in control of my daughter's money before she was even born.
“What was Lucas protecting us from?”” I asked.
Samantha's answer came softly.
“I think that's the question we need to answer first.””
That evening, my father called seven times.
I ignored every call.
Then he sent a text.
*You owe me an apology. I am still your father, and I won't allow you to destroy this family over a misunderstanding.*
I read it twice.
A misunderstanding.
I remembered his hand tangled in my hair. The hard wooden porch beneath my knee. Courtney's laughter.
I typed a reply, deleted it, and turned off my phone.
For the first time since Lucas died, I didn't feel the need to explain myself to Charles.
I fell asleep sometime after midnight, exhausted by pain and fear.
At 2:17 a.m., I woke to a knock.
A nurse stepped inside with a small envelope.
“Emily? A woman left this at the reception desk for you. She said it was urgent.””
I sat up.
“Who?””
“She didn't leave her name. But she asked us to tell you that she knew your husband.””
My fingers went cold.
The envelope was plain white. My name was written across the front in handwriting I didn't recognize.
Inside was a single photograph.
Lucas stood outside a downtown office building, wearing the navy suit he had worn to his last meeting with Samantha.
Beside him stood my father.
Charles had one hand on Lucas's shoulder.
Neither man was smiling.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.
It was the day before Lucas's accident.
Beneath it were seven words.
*Your father was the last person who saw him.*
I stared at the message until the letters blurred.
Then my phone vibrated on the bedside table.
An unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
A woman's voice whispered, “Emily, if you want to know what really happened to Lucas, you need to stop trusting Samantha Reed.””
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Who is this?””
The woman inhaled shakily.
“I'm the person who found the missing file. The one your husband died trying to protect.””
“Tell me your name.””
A door slammed on her end.
She gasped.
Then the line went dead.
I looked at the photograph again.
My father had lied about never meeting Lucas in the final days of his life.
But the voice on the phone had known something else.
Something Samantha hadn't told me.
May you like
And as I reached for the call button to alert the nurse, another message appeared on my screen.
*Ask Samantha why she was at the accident scene before the police arrived.*
