Chapter 2: The Woman in the Photograph
I held the photograph up.
"Explain this.""
Tasha stared at it.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
The music in the living room continued playing, but it sounded distant, almost unreal.
"Where did you get that?"" she finally asked.
"Inside a container filled with food you took away from my daughter.""
"Marcus, please.""
"No. Don't say please. Explain why Danielle's handwriting is on an envelope hidden behind the groceries.""
Tasha glanced toward the hallway.
"Can we talk privately?""
"We are talking privately.""
"Not here. Not with the children listening.""
I looked at her.
"The children have been listening to you for months. Apparently, that's never bothered you.""
Her lips tightened.
"You're misunderstanding everything.""
I unfolded the paper again.
"Then help me understand. What does this mean?""
She looked at the photograph.
"Danielle and I knew each other.""
I stared at her.
"I know that. You told me you worked at the same hospital.""
"Yes.""
"You told me you were friends.""
"We were.""
"Then why does my dead wife sound terrified of you?""
Tasha closed her eyes.
"She wasn't terrified of me.""
"She specifically wrote that I shouldn't ignore it if you started treating Imani the way you treated her.""
Tasha's jaw tightened.
"Danielle had problems. She always thought people were against her.""
"Don't talk about her like that.""
"I'm telling you the truth.""
I stepped closer.
"Then tell me why my daughter has a food ledger.""
Tasha looked toward the pantry.
"Those aren't what you think.""
"What exactly am I supposed to think?""
"Imani has been eating constantly. She sneaks food. She takes snacks upstairs. She doesn't listen when I tell her to stop.""
"She's a growing child.""
"She doesn't understand limits.""
"So you take her lunch?""
"I never took her lunch.""
I lifted the list.
"Then what is this?""
She didn't answer.
"Did you write this?""
"Yes.""
The admission came so quietly that I almost missed it.
"Why?""
"Because I needed to keep track.""
"Of what?""
"Her behavior.""
I looked at the twenty-three entries.
"Her behavior?""
"Food is a privilege, Marcus. It isn't something children should take for granted.""
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
"Food isn't a privilege in this house.""
"Don't twist my words.""
"Did you make her go hungry?""
"No!""
Her voice rose.
"She always had something to eat. I never starved her.""
"Then why is there a container hidden in the pantry?""
Tasha looked away.
I followed her gaze.
"Those are snacks she keeps stealing.""
"Why are they labeled with her name?""
"Because she asked me to save them.""
I almost laughed.
"She asked you to save food in a container hidden behind rice?""
Tasha didn't respond.
I looked down at the photograph again.
Danielle was smiling.
Tasha was standing beside her with one hand resting on the hospital bed.
They looked close.
But there was something else in the picture.
On Danielle's wrist was a hospital identification band.
On Tasha's wrist was an identical band.
I turned it over.
There was a date.
April 16.
The day Imani was born.
I knew the date because I'd been there.
I remembered holding my daughter for the first time, terrified of how small she was.
I remembered Danielle crying.
And I remembered Tasha arriving several hours later.
She had brought flowers.
I'd assumed she was simply a friend from work.
"Why were you there the day Imani was born?"" I asked.
Tasha's eyes flickered.
"I told you. Danielle and I worked together.""
"You said you visited her.""
"I did.""
"Why are you wearing a hospital band?""
She looked down at her wrist as though the photograph had suddenly become a mirror.
"I was helping her.""
"Helping her with what?""
"Marcus, I can't do this right now.""
I heard a chair scrape in the living room.
My mother appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"Marcus, your father wants to take the children home for a little while.""
I looked at her.
"Why?""
She glanced at Tasha.
"Because the children shouldn't have to stand in the middle of this.""
Tasha immediately protested.
"They're fine. Everyone is making this bigger than it is.""
My mother didn't blink.
"Your daughter just apologized for wanting birthday cake.""
Tasha's face hardened.
"She's not my daughter.""
The words landed like a slap.
Nobody spoke.
Tasha seemed to realize what she'd said.
"I didn't mean—"
I looked at her.
"What did you mean?""
She shook her head.
"She's your daughter. Of course I know that.""
"Then why did you say she's not yours?""
"I meant biologically.""
My mother stepped into the kitchen.
"That isn't what you said.""
Tasha turned toward her.
"Please stay out of this, Evelyn.""
My mother folded her arms.
"I've stayed out of it long enough.""
I turned to my wife.
"Go upstairs.""
"What?""
"Go upstairs. I need to talk to my children.""
"Marcus, you're my husband.""
"And they're my children.""
She stared at me, then walked away.
Her heels struck the stairs hard enough to make the framed family photographs tremble.
My mother waited until she disappeared.
Then she approached the pantry.
"What's all this?""
I showed her the list.
She read the entries slowly.
Her expression changed.
"Oh, Marcus.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"Did you know?""
"Know what?""
"That something was wrong.""
She hesitated.
"Imani has been different lately.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I wasn't certain. Every time I asked her, she said everything was fine.""
I closed my eyes.
My mother continued.
"Last month, I brought the children cookies. Imani asked if she could save hers for later.""
"What's wrong with that?""
"She wrapped it in a napkin and put it inside her backpack.""
My stomach turned.
"She told me she wanted to make sure she had something for the next day.""
I looked at the container.
"She was hiding food.""
My mother nodded.
"She was afraid there wouldn't be enough.""
I leaned against the counter.
For years, I'd believed my children were safe.
I'd believed that when I left for work, the woman I loved would protect them.
Instead, my daughter had apparently learned to hide crackers.
And my son had learned to keep secrets because he was afraid of what would happen if he spoke.
"Where's Caleb?"" I asked.
"With Vanessa.""
"Where's Imani?""
"On the couch.""
I walked into the living room.
Imani was sitting beside my father, holding her new necklace.
Caleb sat close to her.
My father was talking to them about his old fishing boat, but neither child was listening.
When I approached, Imani immediately sat straighter.
"Are we in trouble?""
I stopped.
"No, sweetheart.""
"Because of the cake?""
"No.""
She looked toward the staircase.
"Is Tasha mad?""
I sat beside her.
"Imani, I need to ask you something.""
She nodded.
"Do you ever feel hungry when I'm at work?""
Her fingers tightened around the butterfly pendant.
"No.""
"Sweetheart, you can tell me the truth.""
She looked at Caleb.
He gave her a tiny nod.
Then she whispered, "Sometimes.""
I swallowed.
"Why?""
"Because sometimes Tasha says I had enough.""
"Enough of what?""
"Food.""
My father looked away.
I kept my voice gentle.
"Does she take your food?""
Imani nodded.
"Sometimes.""
"Does she do that to Caleb?""
She shook her head.
"Not really.""
"Why not?""
"Because Caleb is a boy.""
I felt the room tilt.
"What does that mean?""
Imani looked down.
"She says boys need more food because they're growing.""
My father stood up.
"Marcus, I think you should hear the rest of this somewhere private.""
But Imani suddenly spoke again.
"Sometimes she lets me eat.""
"When?""
"When Daddy's home.""
I stared at her.
"What happens when I'm not home?""
She hesitated.
"She says I have to learn.""
"Learn what, sweetheart?""
"That wanting things makes people leave.""
I felt my throat tighten.
"Who told you that?""
"Tasha.""
I took my daughter's hand.
"Listen to me. You can want food. You can want another piece of cake.
You can want anything a child your age wants. Nobody should make you feel guilty for being hungry.""
She started crying.
Not loudly.
Just a few quiet tears sliding down her cheeks.
"I didn't want to make you sad, Daddy.""
I pulled her into my arms.
"You didn't make me sad. I'm sorry I didn't see it.""
For several minutes, she held on to me.
Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"She said my mommy used to do the same thing.""
I pulled back.
"What?""
"Tasha said my real mommy was always hungry and greedy. She said that's why she got sick.""
My chest tightened.
"Who told you that?""
"Tasha.""
"Did she say anything else about your mother?""
Imani nodded.
"She said my mommy didn't know how to be a good wife.""
I stared at my daughter.
Danielle had never been perfect.
But she had been loving, funny, and fiercely protective of our children.
She had never made me believe she was anything other than the best mother she could be.
"Did Tasha say why?""
Imani wiped her cheeks.
"She said Mommy took things that weren't hers.""
I remembered the envelope.
The photograph.
The handwriting.
And the sentence I'd read over and over.
If Tasha is raising my little girl, there's something you need to know.
I got up.
"I need to make a phone call.""
My mother took Imani's hand.
"Go.""
I stepped onto the back porch and called my sister.
Vanessa answered immediately.
"Marcus?""
"Do you remember when I first met Tasha?""
"Of course.""
"Did Danielle know her?""
There was a pause.
"Why are you asking?""
"Because I found a photograph of them together at the hospital when Imani was born.""
Vanessa exhaled.
"Marcus, there's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time.""
I gripped the phone.
"What?""
"I saw Danielle arguing with Tasha once. About six months before Danielle died.""
"Arguing about what?""
"I don't know everything. But I remember Danielle saying, 'You don't get to control my daughter just because you couldn't control your own life.''"
I closed my eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because Danielle asked me not to interfere. She said she would handle it.""
"Did she tell you anything else?""
Vanessa went quiet.
Then she said, "Yes. She told me Tasha wasn't just her friend.""
My heart began pounding.
"What do you mean?""
"Marcus, I think you need to ask Tasha who Imani's mother really was.""
I frowned.
"What are you talking about? Danielle was her mother.""
"No. I mean, ask Tasha what happened before you met Danielle.""
I stared into the dark backyard.
"Vanessa, stop speaking in riddles.""
My sister took a breath.
"There's a reason Tasha knew exactly how to find your family after Danielle died.""
I looked through the glass door.
Upstairs, a bedroom light had just switched on.
"Tell me.""
Vanessa's voice dropped.
"Tasha isn't Danielle's old friend, Marcus.""
I gripped the railing.
"Then who is she?""
"She's her sister.""
I couldn't move.
Danielle had never told me she had a sister.
Not once.
And the woman I'd married had apparently spent years hiding that fact.
May you like
Before I could respond, Vanessa added one more thing.
"There's something else. Danielle didn't want Tasha anywhere near Imani.""
