Chapter 2: The Locked Drawer
I didn't sleep.
At 2:17 a.m., I was still sitting in my office with Maya's note spread across the desk.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
I kept reading the same words.
Ask about Mom.
Then the message.
Check the locked drawer.
I had a locked drawer in my bedroom.
I knew exactly which one.
And I had no idea what was inside it.
That frightened me more than anything.
At six in the morning, I heard Maya's bedroom door open.
I immediately left the office.
She was standing in the hallway in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.
“Dad?””
“Hey.””
She looked at me carefully.
“Did you read it?””
I nodded.
Her face went pale.
“All of it?””
“All of it.””
She swallowed.
“Are you mad?””
I crouched in front of her.
“No.””
“Not even a little?””
“Not at you.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't want to ruin your birthday.””
“You didn't ruin anything.””
“She hates me.””
The words came out so quietly that I almost missed them.
“Maya…”
“She does.””
I reached for her hand.
“Tell me what happened.””
She shook her head.
“I don't know everything.””
“Then tell me what you do know.””
She looked toward the staircase.
“Not here.””
My stomach tightened.
“Okay. Kitchen?””
She nodded.
We walked downstairs.
I made pancakes while she sat at the island.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally she said, “She told me you wouldn't believe me.””
I stopped pouring batter.
“Vanessa said that?””
Maya nodded.
“She said if I ever told you she didn't want me here, you'd think I was trying to break up your marriage.””
My jaw tightened.
“Did she say anything else?””
“She said I should be grateful.””
“For what?””
“For having a house.””
I turned around.
Maya stared down at her plate.
“She said lots of kids don't have a dad who stays.””
I felt something inside me crack.
“She told you that?””
Maya nodded.
“And she said your mom couldn't give you what I can.””
My hands went still.
“What does that mean?””
“I don't know.””
She looked up.
“But she gets really angry whenever I ask about Mom.””
I remembered the unknown text.
Ask about Mom.
I turned off the stove.
“Maya, did you find something?””
She hesitated.
Then she reached into her pajama pocket.
A tiny brass key landed on the counter.
I stared at it.
“Where did you get that?””
“Vanessa's jewelry box.””
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Maya.””
“I didn't steal it.””
“I didn't say you did.””
“I found it behind the little blue box.””
I picked it up.
There was a tiny red thread tied around the handle.
I recognized it.
Vanessa always tied red thread around things she didn't want misplaced.
“What does this open?”” I asked.
“The drawer.””
I looked toward the stairs.
“Does Vanessa know you have it?””
“No.””
“Good.””
Maya's eyes widened.
“Dad?””
“I need you to do something for me.””
“What?””
“Stay with Grandma today.””
“Why?””
“Because I have to talk to Vanessa.””
She immediately shook her head.
“No.””
“Maya—”
“Don't tell her I gave you the key.””
“I won't.””
“She'll be angry.””
“I can handle her anger.””
Maya looked at me for several seconds.
Then she whispered, “I don't think you know her.””
The sentence stayed with me all morning.
At nine, I drove Maya to my parents' house.
My mother opened the door and hugged her.
“Birthday girl!””
Maya smiled faintly.
Then my mother looked at me.
“What happened?””
“Can you keep her for the day?””
She glanced between us.
“Of course.””
Maya hugged me before going inside.
As she pulled away, she whispered:
“Dad, please don't let her know I told you.””
“I promise.””
I waited until the door closed.
Then I drove home.
Vanessa was gone.
Her car wasn't in the driveway.
I went upstairs.
Our bedroom looked exactly as it always did.
Cream curtains.
Perfectly arranged pillows.
A framed wedding photograph.
Nothing out of place.
I walked to the dresser.
The locked drawer was at the bottom.
I took out the brass key.
My hand shook as I inserted it.
Click.
The drawer opened.
Inside were envelopes.
Dozens of them.
Old photographs.
A birth certificate.
A hospital bracelet.
And a small leather folder with my name written across the front.
I picked it up.
The first photograph showed Maya as a baby.
The second showed me holding her.
The third showed a woman I hadn't seen in nine years.
My wife's face was nowhere in the picture.
But someone had written a date on the back.
*Three weeks before Maya's mother died.*
I opened the folder.
The first page was a photocopy of a medical record.
The second was a handwritten letter.
The third made my knees weaken.
It was a DNA test.
Not mine.
Not Maya's.
Vanessa's.
I stared at the result.
Then I heard the front door slam downstairs.
Vanessa called out.
“Marcus?””
I shoved everything back into the drawer.
But one photograph slipped from the folder and landed beneath the bed.
I barely had time to reach for it.
Footsteps came up the stairs.
“Marcus?””
I stood.
Vanessa appeared in the doorway.
Her eyes immediately went to the dresser.
Then to me.
“What are you doing?””
“Looking for something.””
Her face changed.
“What?””
Before I could answer, she walked into the room.
And for the first time since I had known her, Vanessa looked genuinely terrified.
May you like
“You opened that drawer.””
It wasn't a question.
