My Stepchildren Put Sticky Notes on My Furniture at Their Father’s Funeral—Then His Final Letter Stopped Them Cold
PART 5
The name left Michael’s mouth so softly that, for a second, I thought I had imagined it.
“Laura.”
I stared at him.
Then at the brass key in my hand.
Then back at him.
My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.
“Laura who?”
Michael hesitated.
“Laura Bennett.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I knew that name.
I had heard it once before.
Twenty years ago.
Frank and I had been married for less than a year.
I had been cleaning out a box of old receipts in the attic when I found a photograph tucked inside an envelope.
It was Frank standing beside a young woman.
She was beautiful.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
A small smile.
On the back of the photograph, written in Frank’s handwriting, were two words:
Laura Bennett.
I had carried the photograph downstairs.
I had asked him who she was.
Frank had gone completely still.
Then he had taken the photograph from my hand.
“Where did you find this?”
“In the attic.”
He had stared at it for a long time.
Then he had said something I had never forgotten.
“Some things are better left in the past.”
I had thought she was an old girlfriend.
I had asked him.
He hadn’t answered.
I had asked again.
He had kissed my forehead and said,
“Trust me, Eileen.”
So I did.
For nineteen years, I did.
Now Michael was standing in my living room, holding the key to a cottage I had been told no longer existed.
And Laura Bennett was living there.
For nineteen years.
I looked at Michael.
“Who is she?”
He glanced at Whit.
Whit nodded.
Michael took a slow breath.
“Laura was Frank’s first love.”
Diane made a small sound.
Ross whispered,
“What?”
Michael continued.
“They were engaged.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Engaged?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the floor.
Suddenly the entire room felt unfamiliar.
The house.
The furniture.
The photographs.
The memories.
Everything.
I had spent nineteen years believing I knew the man I married.
And now, on the day I buried him, I was learning about another woman.
“Did he love her?”
Nobody answered.
I looked directly at Michael.
“Did Frank love Laura?”
Michael finally said,
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
More than I expected.
I turned away.
I didn’t want Diane to see me cry.
I didn’t want Ross to see me break.
Most of all, I didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of thinking I had been foolish.
But then Michael said,
“He loved her.”
He paused.
“But he didn’t marry her.”
I looked back.
“Why?”
“Because she left.”
“Why?”
Michael looked down.
“Because of a child.”
My heart stopped.
“What child?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately.
Whit stepped closer.
“Eileen, you should hear the rest at the cottage.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
My voice was quiet.
“I want to hear it here.”
Michael nodded.
“Laura was pregnant.”
Nobody moved.
“She was twenty-two. Frank was twenty-four.”
Diane stared at him.
“With his child?”
Michael nodded.
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
I grabbed the back of a chair.
“Did Frank know?”
“He knew.”
“Then where is the child?”
Michael looked at me.
“That’s why you need to come with me.”
I felt anger rising through the grief.
“You don’t get to keep speaking in riddles.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Michael lowered his eyes.
“The child died.”
Silence.
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“The baby was born prematurely.”
He swallowed.
“She lived for three days.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, all I could hear was the clock ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Frank’s clock.
My mother’s clock.
The clock Diane had tried to take.
I remembered Frank sitting beside it during the final months of his illness.
I remembered how often he stared at it.
I had assumed he was watching the time.
Now I wondered if he was watching something else.
“What happened to Laura?”
Michael answered.
“She blamed Frank.”
“For the baby’s death?”
“Not exactly.”
He hesitated.
“She believed he had abandoned her.”
I looked at him.
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Michael looked toward the window.
“Frank’s father forced him to choose.”
“Choose what?”
“His family business or Laura.”
I understood immediately.
“Money.”
Michael nodded.
“His father told him that if he married Laura, he would lose everything.”
Ross scoffed.
“So he chose the business.”
Michael looked at him.
“No.”
Ross stopped.
“He chose Laura.”
My heart tightened.
“He left the business?”
“For a while.”
Michael continued.
“He and Laura planned to leave town. Start over.”
“Then what happened?”
“Her father found out.”
Michael’s voice became quieter.
“Laura’s father threatened to take the baby away.”
“But the baby died.”
“Yes.”
Michael looked at me.
“After the funeral, Laura disappeared.”
“And Frank?”
“He spent years trying to find her.”
I whispered,
“Did he?”
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
The room went silent.
That was around the time I had found the photograph.
I suddenly understood why Frank had reacted the way he did.
“That’s when he bought the cottage?”
Michael nodded.
“He found Laura living alone.”
“Was she sick?”
“Yes.”
“How sick?”
“She had been diagnosed with a progressive neurological disease.”
I covered my mouth.
“And Frank took care of her?”
“Not directly.”
“Why not?”
“Because Laura refused to see him.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then how did he help her?”
Michael looked at me.
“Through the cottage.”
He explained that Frank had purchased the small property under another name and arranged for Laura to live there without knowing who was paying the bills.
He had covered her medical expenses.
Her groceries.
Her repairs.
Her transportation.