Part 3: The Woman in the Photograph
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Not Detective Miller.
Not Clara.
Not me.
The entire room seemed to freeze around that one image.
My mother.
Standing beside my pregnant wife.
Inside our bedroom.
While Clara was unconscious.
I stared at the phone.
Then at the photograph.
Then back at the phone.
My mind refused to process it.
Because the woman in that picture was someone I had spent my entire life trusting.
My mother.
The woman who raised me.
The woman who taught me right from wrong.
The woman who cried at my wedding.
"No..."
The word came out before I realized I had spoken.
"It can't be."
Detective Miller looked at me.
"You recognize her?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Because saying it out loud made it real.
Finally, I nodded.
"Yes."
"Who is she?"
I swallowed.
"My mother."
Clara looked away.
And that hurt more than anything.
Because she wasn't shocked.
She wasn't surprised.
She had already considered it.
"Ethan..."
Her voice was weak.
"I didn't want to tell you."
I turned toward her.
"Tell me what?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Your mother came here to talk to me."
My chest tightened.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"Why?"
Clara looked at her hands.
"About the baby."
I felt my anger rise.
"She came here when I wasn't home?"
Clara nodded.
"She said she wanted to help."
Detective Miller listened carefully.
"What happened during that visit?"
Clara took a slow breath.
"At first, everything seemed normal."
"She brought baby clothes."
"She talked about the nursery."
"She acted like a loving grandmother."
Then Clara's expression changed.
"Then she started asking questions."
"What kind of questions?"
I asked.
Clara looked at me.
"About the pregnancy."
"About the baby."
"About the hospital."
My stomach twisted.
"What exactly?"
She looked down.
"She asked if the doctor confirmed the baby's blood type."
The room became silent.
Detective Miller frowned.
"That's unusual."
I nodded.
Because it was.
My mother had never cared about medical details before.
"What else?"
I asked.
Clara's eyes filled with fear.
"She asked if we had already done a DNA test."
My blood ran cold.
"DNA test?"
Clara nodded.
"She said she was just curious."
"But then..."
She stopped.
"Then what?"
Her voice trembled.
"Then she said something strange."
"What?"
Clara looked directly at me.
"She said..."
"Sometimes men raise children who aren't really theirs."
The words hit me.
Because they were almost identical to the thought I had earlier.
The thought my mother had planted weeks ago.
Detective Miller looked at me.
"Did your mother ever suggest something like that before?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
My face told him everything.
The detective sighed.
"Mr. Ethan, I need you to tell me something."
"What?"
"Was your mother against your marriage?"
I thought back.
The small comments.
The questions.
The warnings.
The subtle doubts.
At the time, I thought she was being protective.
Now...
I wasn't sure.
"She never accepted Clara completely."
I admitted.
Clara looked hurt.
"I knew she didn't like me."
"But I never thought..."
Her voice broke.
"I never thought she would hurt me."
And that was the part that destroyed me.
Because neither did I.
Detective Miller continued searching the phone.
"There are more messages."
He scrolled.
Then his expression changed.
"What?"
I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
There was a conversation.
A conversation between the unknown number and my mother.
The first message was from my mother.
It said:
"I need more time."
The reply:
"You don't have time. He is coming back tonight."
My heart stopped.
Because "he" meant me.
Then another message appeared.
From my mother:
"If he finds out, everything will be ruined."
Everything?
What was she hiding?
Detective Miller continued scrolling.
Then we found the last message.
The one sent only minutes before I arrived home.
"The photo is broken. Make it look like an accident."
Nobody spoke.
The broken wedding photo.
The blood.
The backward nightgown.
The footprints.
My mother had staged the scene.
I felt sick.
Because for one horrible moment...
I wondered if my mother's goal had been to make me believe Clara betrayed me.
To destroy our marriage.
But why?
Then Clara suddenly grabbed my hand.
Her eyes widened.
"Ethan."
"What?"
She looked terrified.
"Your mother wasn't alone."
I froze.
"What do you mean?"
"When she was here yesterday..."
Clara whispered.
"I heard another voice."
"Whose?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
"But your mother said..."
She stopped.
"She said what?"
Clara looked toward the door.
Her voice dropped.
"She said, 'He will make sure Ethan never finds out the truth.'"
The room went silent.
Detective Miller immediately stood.
"Who is 'he'?"
Nobody answered.
Because suddenly we all realized something.
My mother might not have been the person behind everything.
She might have been afraid too.
Then the apartment lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And went out.
Everyone froze.
Detective Miller reached for his flashlight.
A sound came from the hallway.
A door opening.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Someone was still inside the apartment.
The detective moved toward the hallway.
"Police! Show yourself!"
No answer.
Then a voice came from the darkness.
A man's voice.
"Ethan..."
My blood turned cold.
Because I knew that voice.
It belonged to someone I had known for years.
May you like
Someone I never suspected.
My father.
