Chapter 3 - The Man in the PhotographMia didn't tell Charlotte she'd heard the phone call.
At breakfast, she acted tired.
That wasn't difficult.
Charlotte entered wearing cream trousers and a white blouse.
No sinister smile.
No cold eyes.
Only concern.
“Sleep okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Nightmares?”
“No.”
Charlotte studied her.
Mia ate cereal.
Slowly.
Anna had always told her that a lie worked better if you didn't decorate it.
Keep answers short.
Don't volunteer.
Charlotte poured coffee.
“I thought today we could buy you some clothes.”
“I don't need clothes.”
“You're wearing the same sweater you wore yesterday.”
Mia looked down.
“It's mine.”
Charlotte's expression softened.
“Of course.”
She changed the subject.
Mia noticed.
Good manipulators probably did that.
Was Charlotte a good manipulator?
Anna would say yes.
After breakfast, Charlotte received a call and went outside.
Mia wandered.
Nora was arranging flowers in the living room.
Mia stopped beside a piano.
An old grand piano.
Not decorative.
The keys showed wear.
“You play?” Nora asked.
“Guitar.”
“I noticed.”
Mia watched her.
“Do you know my mom?”
Nora's hand stopped over a vase.
Only for a second.
“I knew someone named Anna.”
“Anna Mercer?”
Nora inhaled.
Mia had deliberately used her mother's old last name.
Anna hadn't used Mercer publicly in years.
Nora turned.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“So you did know her.”
Nora's face became cautious.
“I worked here when Anna visited.”
“Visited Charlotte?”
“And Julian.”
“Who's Julian?”
Nora looked toward the terrace.
Charlotte wasn't there.
She lowered her voice.
“Charlotte's older brother.”
Mia had never heard of him.
Nora glanced at the guitar.
Then said,
“You should ask Charlotte.”
That meant Nora knew more.
Mia continued walking.
At the far end of the living room stood a wall of family photographs.
Charlotte as a child.
Charlotte at graduation.
An older man with silver hair.
A woman wearing pearls.
Then—
Anna.
Mia stopped.
Her mother looked twenty years younger.
Long brown hair.
Bright smile.
She stood between Charlotte and a dark-haired young man holding a guitar.
Mia moved closer.
The guitar looked familiar.
Smaller than an adult instrument.
Worn mahogany.
A scratch beneath the soundhole.
Mia looked down at hers.
Same scratch.
Her fingers went cold.
The man in the photograph had once held her guitar.
A silver plaque beneath the picture read:
JULIAN STERLING — 1985–2018
Mia did the math badly at first.
Then again.
He died eight years ago.
She was eight.
Charlotte's voice came from behind her.
“You found Julian.”
Mia turned.
“That's my guitar.”
Charlotte looked at the instrument.
“It was his.”
“Why does Mom have it?”
“Julian gave it to her.”
“Why?”
Charlotte took several seconds.
Then walked toward the photograph.
“Because he loved her.”
Mia stared.
Charlotte touched the frame.
“They met when Anna was nineteen. Julian was twenty-three.”
“My mom never told me.”
“I'm not surprised.”
“Why?”
Charlotte looked at Mia.
“Because Julian died before you were born.”
Something inside Mia tightened.
Not because of the words.
Because she'd heard them before.
Anna's warning.
Six months ago, in a motel outside Phoenix.
“If someone ever tells you your father died before you were born, don't assume they're lying.”
Mia had laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
Anna had taken her face between both hands.
“Listen carefully. Sometimes the most dangerous lie is built around something true.”
Mia looked at Charlotte.
“Was Julian my dad?”
Charlotte didn't answer immediately.
That delay felt important.
“I think he was.”
Mia's chest tightened.
“You think?”
“Anna disappeared before she told us she was pregnant.”
“Us?”
“My family.”
“Why?”
Charlotte's eyes filled.
“Because my father didn't approve of her.”
“Why?”
“He thought she wanted Julian's money.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
Charlotte answered too quickly.
Mia stared.
Charlotte crouched.
“I loved your mother.”
“Loved?”
“I haven't seen her in eight years.”
“You were looking for me for seven.”
Charlotte froze.
Mia knew she'd made a mistake.
She shouldn't have revealed what she heard.
But it was too late.
“How do you know that?”
Mia said nothing.
Charlotte's face remained calm.
Then she smiled.
Not warmly this time.
Carefully.
“You were outside my study.”
Mia backed up.
Nora watched from across the room.
Charlotte lowered her voice.
“I was looking for you because Julian's child deserves to know who she is.”
“You asked about the ending.”
Charlotte stopped.
Mia hugged the guitar.
“What ending?”
Silence.
Mia's voice trembled.
“The three notes Mom told me never to play.”
Charlotte's eyes sharpened.
For one instant Mia saw it.
The same coldness from the rooftop hug.
Then Charlotte softened again.
“Mia, I don't want anything from you.”
“You want what's in my guitar.”
Charlotte looked toward Nora.
“Would you give us a minute?”
Nora didn't move.
Charlotte repeated,
“Nora.”
The housekeeper slowly left.
Mia felt more afraid once they were alone.
Charlotte approached.
“I need to tell you something about your mother.”
“Don't.”
“Anna was in danger.”
Mia's heart jumped.
“Is.”
Charlotte's expression changed.
“What?”
“You said was.”
“Mia—”
“She's alive.”
Charlotte stared at her.
Mia didn't know that.
Not for sure.
But Charlotte's reaction told her something.
Charlotte hadn't been certain Anna was dead either.
Then Charlotte whispered,
“Where is she?”
May you like
Mia stepped backward.
And for the first time, Charlotte forgot to look kind.
Related Stories
