Chapter 13 - Unit 314
Marcus almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the truth had become too large to enter his mind in one piece.
Evan.
Simone.
Eleven months ago.
Holding hands.
He called Evan from the storage unit.
“Tell me the truth before I find it without you.”
Evan went quiet.
Marcus sent the photo.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Finally Evan said, “We met twice.”
Marcus shut his eyes.
“You said she contacted you three days ago.”
“She did.”
“You made it sound like that was the first time.”
“It was the first time in months.”
Marcus felt heat rise in his chest.
“Why were you meeting her?”
“I was trying to see Caleb.”
“By holding her hand?”
“Marcus—”
“Answer me.”
Evan exhaled hard.
“She asked me to try again with her.”
The storage unit seemed to shrink.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Were you sleeping with my wife?”
“No.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I kissed her once. I stopped it. I told her I wanted a relationship with my son, not her.”
Marcus sat on one of the plastic bins.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I figured if I admitted it, you’d never let me near Caleb.”
“You don’t get to decide what truth I can handle.”
“I know.”
Marcus ended the call.
Then he opened the bins.
The first held Nia’s belongings.
Not random things.
Specific things.
Alicia’s recipe cards.
A framed photo from Nia’s bedside table.
Her kindergarten art folder.
The sweater she wore the last Christmas Alicia was alive.
Things Nia had asked about.
Things Simone said were lost.
The second bin held documents.
Printouts about boarding schools.
Articles about “blended family disruption.”
A draft letter describing Nia as dangerous.
The third bin contained something different.
Baby clothes.
Photographs of Caleb as an infant.
Letters from Evan.
Unopened.
Returned mail.
Marcus felt sick.
Simone had hidden two children’s histories for two different reasons.
One because she resented a dead mother.
One because she wanted to erase a living father.
At the bottom of the filing cabinet, Marcus found a small digital recorder.
He pressed play.
Simone’s voice.
Then another woman’s.
A therapist, maybe.
Simone said, “Sometimes I think if Nia were gone, everything would finally be quiet.”
The other woman replied, “When you say gone, what do you mean?”
A long pause.
Simone whispered, “Not dead.”
Marcus stopped breathing.
Then the recording continued.
“Just somewhere far enough that Marcus would stop choosing her first.”
A door slammed behind him.
Marcus spun around.
May you like
Simone stood at the entrance to the unit.
And she was holding the only key to his car.
