PART 3 — THE LETTER HE LEFT BEHIND

The receipt was from a storage facility outside town. Its date was three days after my mother said my father had left us. In the corner, someone had written a unit number: 214.
I held it up. “Why was he renting storage if he’d already gone?”
Claire stared at the receipt. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen that before.”
“It was in your box.”
“The box was his. He gave it to me sealed except for the photograph.” Her voice shook. “Ethan, please read the letter.”
I tore open the envelope.
My boy,
If Claire gives you this, she found you when I couldn’t. I hope you’ve grown up knowing how much I loved you. I need you to know one thing before you decide whether to look for me: I did not leave because I wanted to.
I stopped reading. My eyes blurred, and I had to grip the edge of the table.
Claire remained across the room. For once, she didn’t come close or try to comfort me.

I forced myself to continue.
The night I left, your mother found out what I’d been doing. She told me I would never see you again if I kept asking questions. I thought she was frightened. Now I think she knows why the money went missing.
“What money?” I asked.
Claire shook her head. “Daniel never told me.”
The next line was pressed so hard into the paper that I could feel the marks beneath my thumb.
The key belongs to unit 214. Everything I found is there. I’m going to bring it to the police tomorrow. If I don’t come back, start with the blue ledger.
The letter ended there. No signature. Just a small drawing of a balloon beside my name.
I turned the receipt over again. “What happened the next day?”
“Daniel didn’t show up for work. Nobody could reach him.” Claire swallowed. “Your mother told everyone he’d gone.”
“And you believed her?”
“Not at first. I reported him missing. The police spoke to your mother, and she said he’d packed a bag. After a while, they stopped calling me back.”

I stared at the photograph on the table. My mother had told me Dad left on a Tuesday morning. I could still picture the empty hook where his jacket used to hang. Had she taken it down herself?
“Why did he give you the box?” I asked.
“He came to my apartment that night. He said he needed someone outside the family to keep it safe.” Claire’s face tightened. “I should have gone with him the next morning.”
I wanted to ask why she hadn’t. I wanted to ask why, twenty years later, she had looked at my face on a dating app and thought she could keep this hidden while we fell in love.
Instead, I said, “I’m going to that storage place.”
“It may not even be there anymore.”
“Then I’ll find out.”
Claire picked up her car keys. “I can drive.”
“No. I need to make some calls first. And I need you to stay here.”
She nodded, though I could see how much it hurt.
Outside, I sat in my car with the letter in my lap. I called the number on the receipt. It took two transfers before a woman found an old record under Daniel Mercer’s name.

“The unit was closed years ago,” she said.
My hope dropped.
“But,” she continued, “the account notes say its contents were transferred to a private facility when the property changed owners.”
“Who arranged that?”
There was a pause. “Someone with access to the account.”
“Can you give me a name?”
“I’ll need to check the archived paperwork. Leave your number.”
After I hung up, my phone buzzed. A text from Mom.
Claire called me. Please come over before you do something you’ll regret.

I read it twice. Claire had called my mother. I was still deciding what that meant when another message appeared.
This one came from a number I didn’t know.
Your father went to the police with a copy of that ledger. Ask your mother what happened to the original.
I called the number immediately. It went straight to voicemail.
Then a third message arrived.
And Ethan? Don’t bring Claire…………………….