The woman stepped onto the porch.
She was probably in her seventies, with silver hair pulled into a loose knot and a cardigan wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“You shouldn't be here this late,” she said.
“I could say the same to you.”
She almost smiled.
Then her expression became serious.
“Come inside.”
I hesitated.
“I don't know you.”
“No.”
She looked at the photograph.
“But I knew Daniel.”
That was enough to make me follow her.
The house smelled faintly of lavender and old books.
She led me into a sitting room.
On the wall were photographs of a younger family.
A husband.
Two daughters.
A little boy.
I sat on the edge of a chair.
“My name is Evelyn.”
“I’m—”
“I know who you are.”
That unsettled me.
“How?”
“Daniel told me.”
“When?”
“Several years ago.”
I stared at her.
“Before he met me?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he tell you?”
“That he had found the little girl.”
I stopped breathing.
“Josie?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Your daughter.”
I gripped the arms of the chair.
“What do you mean, found?”
“He didn't find her alive.”
She spoke gently.
“He found her after the collision.”
“I know that.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You know what the police told you.”
I felt cold.
“What did Daniel know that they didn't?”
Evelyn folded her hands.
“Daniel was the first person to reach your car.”
“He called the ambulance.”
“Yes.”
“He told them there was a child.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
She looked toward the window.
“There was another car.”
My chest tightened.
“What car?”
“A dark sedan.”
“Did anyone see it?”
“Daniel did.”
“Who was driving?”
“I don't know.”
“You said there was another car.”
“There was.”
“What happened?”
Evelyn took a slow breath.
“Daniel told me the driver stopped. He got out. He looked at the wreck. Then he walked toward your daughter.”
I couldn't speak.
“What did he do?”
“I don't know.”
“You must know something.”
“I know what Daniel told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He said the man picked up something from the road.”
“What?”
Evelyn looked at me.
“Mr. Bunny.”
My hands went numb.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“But Daniel had it.”
“Eventually.”
“What happened before that?”
Evelyn's voice dropped.
“The man took it.”
I stood.
“Then why did Daniel have it?”
“Because he got it back.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“You're hiding something.”
“No.”
She looked exhausted.
“I'm trying not to tell you something Daniel didn't want me to tell you.”
“Daniel is dead.”
“I know.”
“So whatever promise you made to him doesn't matter anymore.”
She closed her eyes.
“I wish it were that simple.”
I sat again.
“What was the man's name?”
“Daniel didn't know.”
“Then how did he find him?”
“He didn't.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The man found Daniel.”
The words landed heavily.
“When?”
“Several years after the accident.”
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
“To ask about the rabbit.”
I remembered Daniel's face when I had told him about Mr. Bunny.
The way he had looked away.
The tremor in his hands.
The guilt.
I had mistaken it for sympathy.
It had been recognition.
“What happened when the man came?”
“Daniel refused to give him anything.”
“What did the man want?”
“The photograph.”
“What photograph?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“You don't have it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then Daniel kept it.”
She looked at the picture in my hand.
“That one?”
“Yes.”
“That's not the photograph he wanted.”
My pulse quickened.
“Then what was?”
Evelyn stood and walked toward a cabinet.
She opened the bottom drawer.
Inside was a small black notebook.
She handed it to me.
“Daniel left this with me.”
“Why?”
“He said if anything happened to him before he could explain everything, I should give it to you.”
I opened it.
The first pages contained dates.
Names.
Locations.
Notes about the accident.
Then I saw a name.
My husband's.
Beneath it was another name I didn't recognize.
And beside that name were three words.
“Insurance. Debt. Threat.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“What is this?”
“I don't know.”
“You knew Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“He believed the accident wasn't random.”
I stared at the page.
“Neither did he?”
“No.”
My heart began racing.
I turned another page.
Daniel had written about my husband's business.
There had been financial problems.
Loans.
A dispute.
An insurance policy.
None of this had ever been part of the story I was told.
My husband had always seemed responsible.
Stable.
Predictable.
But Daniel had spent years investigating.
Why?
Evelyn sat beside me.
“He didn't investigate because he wanted revenge.”
“Then why?”
“Because he believed someone had caused the accident.”
The room became silent.
I looked at the notebook again.
There were dates after the accident.
Then a date several years later.
And beside it:
“Found her.”
I frowned.
“Found who?”
Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know.”
I looked at the next page.
There was a child's name.
Lily.
I stared.
“What does Lily have to do with this?”
Evelyn didn't answer.
I turned the page.
Daniel had written:
“She cannot know yet.”
My blood ran cold.
“Know what?”
Evelyn whispered, “That is the question.”
I closed the notebook.
“I need to go home.”
She nodded.
At the door, she stopped me.
“There's something you need to understand.”
I turned.
“Daniel loved you.”
I said nothing.
“He didn't marry you because he needed a caretaker for Lily.”
My eyes filled.
“Then why?”
“Because he believed you were the only person who could protect her.”
“From whom?”
Evelyn looked frightened.
“From the same person who had been watching Daniel.”
I froze.
“Someone was watching him?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
I stepped outside.
The night air was cold.
I walked toward my car.
Then I saw it.
A dark sedan parked half a block away.
Its headlights were off.
I stopped.
The car remained still.
I couldn't see the driver.
Then the engine started.
The sedan pulled away slowly.
I stood frozen until its taillights disappeared.
I returned home before dawn.
Lily was still asleep.
I locked every door.
Then I placed Daniel's notebook on the kitchen table.
There was one page I hadn't noticed before.
A small photograph had been tucked into the back cover.
I pulled it out.
My hands shook.
The photograph showed Daniel standing beside Lily.
She was perhaps four years old.
Behind them was a playground.
And standing several yards away was a man.
His face was turned toward the camera.
I recognized him.
Not because I had ever met him.
Because I had seen his face once before.
In my husband's old business files.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Photograph Connected Daniel’s Investigation to My Husband’s Hidden Troubles, and Someone Outside Our House Wanted the Evidence Buried
The Little Girl in Room 412 Asked Me for a Simple Favor, and I Had No Idea Her Father Was About to Change the Rest of My Life
Part 6 of 12
