“No, I wasn’t.”
She clicked through a few more screens, then printed a summary and slid it across the desk toward me. The account had been opened years ago — right around the same time I’d needed my heart surgery.
The first deposit was labeled as a business settlement. The first withdrawal was the exact amount Mark had paid for my operation. But the rest of it was my worst nightmare come true.
Six years ago, Mark started making monthly payments from that account. They were all made to the same person.
But the rest of it was my worst nightmare come true.
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Anna. The name from the funeral guest book.
Right beneath the name was her address.
I copied it down, thanked the banker, walked out to my car, and drove straight there.
***
The house was modest and well-kept. The two teenage boys I’d seen at the funeral were shooting hoops in the driveway. When they saw me get out, they stopped. They stared. One of them turned toward the house.
“Mom!”
I drove straight there.
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The door opened, and the woman from the funeral stepped outside.
“You’re Mark’s wife,” she said.
“I am, but who are you? Why did you leave that note in the guest book?”
“I left it because Mark had been hiding a secret from you for years.”
I looked over at the two boys.
“The children… are they his?”
Anna’s eyebrows lifted. “No. Not in the way you think.” She gestured to the chairs on the porch. “Please. Sit down. I’ll explain everything.”
“Why did you leave that note in the guest book?”
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I sat.
“I’m Anna,” she said. “Mark’s sister. These are my children, but for the past six years, Mark was their only father figure.”
“His… sister?”
She nodded. “We didn’t speak for a long time. My family, Mark included, hated the man I married. They gave me an ultimatum: leave him, or lose them. I was a fool… I chose him.”
I realized then why she looked familiar.
“Mark was their only father figure.”
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Many years ago, I’d seen a photo of Mark as a teenager, his arm hooked around a girl’s shoulders. I’d asked if it was his girlfriend, and he shook his head sadly.
He never did tell me who she was, but I was certain now that it was a photo of him and Anna.
“One night, my husband came home in a terrible mood. I was frightened. I got the kids out of the house and called Mark.”
“After years of not speaking? Why not call the police?”
I was certain now that it was a photo of him and Anna.
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“I was desperate, and I knew Mark would help me get away from him.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I should have called the police, but I was afraid it would make things worse long-term. Mark came. He and my husband argued. Then my husband got in his car and drove away.”
She went quiet. I waited.
“Twenty minutes later, the police called,” she continued. “Car accident. Mark blamed himself. He started coming around to help with the kids. He became like a father to them.”
“But why didn’t he tell me?”
“Twenty minutes later, the police called.”
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