The book was still at home.
My childhood copy of *The Secret Garden* had belonged to my father before he gave it to me.
I had carried it from house to house for years.
When I was twelve, he had written my name inside the cover.
For Lauren, because every garden has a door.
I had never understood what he meant.
Now I did.
I called Natalie.
“Can you go to Dad's old house?”
She was silent.
“The house was sold years ago.”
“I know.”
“But the book?”
“Still there?”
“I think so.”
“How?”
“Mom gave it to me before she moved.”
There was a pause.
“I'll look.”
Rachel and I waited.
Twenty minutes later, Natalie called.
“I found it.”
My heart raced.
“Open it.”
“I did.”
“Anything?”
“There's an envelope.”
I closed my eyes.
“Don't open it.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad wrote it for me.”
Rachel nodded.
“Bring it here.”
Natalie drove straight to the office.
The envelope was old.
Yellowed at the edges.
My name was written in my father's handwriting.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single key.
No explanation.
Just one sentence.
When the house is no longer yours, look where the first promise was made.
Rachel frowned.
“What does that mean?”
I knew.
“The house.”
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
“The one Barbara moved into?”
I nodded.
“My father had been there before the sale.”
I remembered the first time Ryan took me to see it.
He had acted surprised when the property became available.
He had said it was lucky.
Too lucky.
Now I wondered whether he had known about the house long before I did.
We drove there that afternoon.
Barbara's car was gone.
The house looked different without her.
Empty.
Cold.
Almost innocent.
I stood on the porch.
“The first promise was made here.”
Rachel looked around.
“Between you and Ryan?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“My father.”
I remembered.
When I was twenty-two, Dad had brought me here.
The house had belonged to Susan then.
He had stood in the garden and told me that someday, when I was ready, this place would be mine.
I had forgotten.
Or perhaps I had buried the memory.
We entered.
The brown couch was still there.
So were Barbara's belongings.
But the house felt abandoned.
Rachel followed me upstairs.
“The master bedroom?”
“No.”
I walked toward the hallway.
At the end was a small room.
A reading room.
I opened the door.
The wallpaper was faded.
There was an old built-in bookshelf.
I ran my fingers along the shelves.
One section moved.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Rachel stared.
“You knew that was there?”
“No.”
“Then how did you find it?”
“I didn't.”
I pulled out the key.
It fit.
The compartment opened.
Inside was a metal box.
My father's handwriting appeared on the lid.
*For Lauren.**
I lifted it.
Inside was a file.
And a photograph.
I picked up the photograph first.
It showed my father with Susan.
Behind them stood a young Ryan.
But this photograph was different.
Ryan wasn't looking at my father.
He was looking at Barbara.
And Barbara was holding a folder.
Rachel examined it.
“Look at the date.”
Five years before I met Ryan.
I opened the file.
The first document was a list of names.
Women.
Three names.
Emily was one.
Another woman had disappeared from the record.
The third was me.
Beside each name was a note.
Emily — rejected.
Marissa — withdrew.
Lauren — pending.
I stared at the word.
Pending.
I turned the page.
There was a financial agreement.
Barbara had promised Ryan a percentage of the trust if he married the beneficiary.
I felt sick.
Rachel photographed everything.
Then I saw another page.
The percentage was crossed out.
Underneath, in my father's handwriting:
Ryan is not the architect.
Barbara is.
I looked at Rachel.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
The next page contained something even worse.
A handwritten note from Susan.
Barbara believes Ryan will obey her.
He does not understand what she is capable of.
I read it twice.
Rachel said, “Maybe Ryan wasn't entirely willing.”
“He still did it.”
“Yes.”
I turned another page.
A letter from Ryan.
My father's response was written underneath.
Ryan had asked for permission to marry me.
Not because he loved me.
Because he believed marriage would give him access to the trust.
But he had also written:
I care about her more than I expected.
I stopped.
Rachel saw my expression.
“What?”
“He says he cared.”
“Did he?”
“I don't know.”
I kept reading.
My father had replied:
Then walk away.
Ryan's answer was only three words.
I can't.
The final page was dated six months before our wedding.
My father had written:
If you continue, Lauren will eventually discover the truth.
Ryan had answered:
By then she will love me.
I dropped the paper.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Rachel looked at me.
“That sentence matters.”
“It doesn't make it better.”
“No.”
“It makes it worse.”
“Yes.”
I picked up the file.
Then I heard a noise downstairs.
We froze.
A door slammed.
Rachel whispered, “Someone's here.”
We moved toward the hallway.
Footsteps came up the stairs.
Slow.
Unhurried.
I reached for my phone.
Then Ryan appeared.
He stopped when he saw us.
His eyes went immediately to the file in my hands.
“Lauren.”
I felt no surprise.
“You knew we'd come.”
“No.”
“You've been watching the house.”
“I came to get something.”
“The succession file?”
His face changed.
“Who told you?”
“My father.”
Ryan went still.
I stepped closer.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“You know where he was.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn't safe.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
I almost laughed.
“You don't get to use that word anymore.”
“Lauren, listen.”
“No.”
He looked exhausted.
Not guilty.
Exhausted.
“I tried to stop this.”
“You married me.”
“I loved you.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You forged my signature.”
“No.”
“You let your mother use my name.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father was alive.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Then why should I believe anything you say?”
“You shouldn't.”
The honesty stunned me.
He stepped closer.
“I know what I've done.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me where my father is.”
“I can't.”
“Because Barbara told you not to?”
“No.”
“Because you're protecting her?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He looked at the file.
“Because your father isn't hiding from Barbara anymore.”
I felt a chill.
“Who is he hiding from?”
Ryan's eyes met mine.
“Me.”
I couldn't speak.
He continued.
“Your father discovered something about me.”
“What?”
“That I wasn't the person Barbara thought she was sending to you.”
Rachel stepped forward.
“What does that mean?”
Ryan looked at her.
“It means I was supposed to take the trust.”
“And?”
“I changed my mind.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Before the wedding.”
“Then why did you marry me?”
“Because by then Barbara knew I was going to leave.”
He looked at the floor.
“She threatened you?”
“She threatened everyone.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
“What did she threaten?”
Ryan swallowed.
“She told me if I walked away, she would make sure your father disappeared permanently.”
My blood ran cold.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she knew where he was.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
He finally answered.
“An old clinic in northern Oregon.”
Rachel immediately wrote it down.
“Is he still there?”
“No.”
“Where did he go?”
Ryan looked at me.
“He came looking for you.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I froze.
“Three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Before the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he find me?”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“Because Barbara got to him first.”
The room went silent.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Then you do know.”
“I saw him leave.”
“With whom?”
Ryan's face tightened.
“My mother.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Where did they go?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I stepped toward him.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“Then what do you know?”
He looked at the file.
“The succession document isn't about money.”
I frowned.
“What is it about?”
“It identifies the person who can remove Barbara from control of the trust.”
“Who?”
Ryan looked at me.
“You.”
I stared at him.
“And if I activate it?”
“Barbara loses everything.”
The words barely left his mouth before headlights swept across the windows.
A car had stopped outside.
Ryan turned toward the glass.
His face changed.
“She's here.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
He grabbed my arm.
“We have to go.”
I pulled free.
“No.”
“Lauren, you don't understand.”
“I understand enough.”
The front door opened downstairs.
Barbara's voice carried through the house.
“Ryan?”
Ryan looked at me.
Then at the file.
“Hide.”
I shook my head.
“I'm done hiding.”
Barbara's footsteps climbed the stairs.
Ryan whispered one final sentence.
“If she sees that file, she will kill to get it.”
The door at the end of the hallway opened.
Barbara stood there.
Her eyes went directly to my hands.
And she smiled.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Barbara Had Finally Found the File She Feared, but the Woman Standing Behind Her Carried Proof of a Secret Even She Could Not Control
Four Days After Our Wedding, a Photograph From My Husband’s Cousin Turned Our Perfect Honeymoon Into Something I Couldn’t Explain
Part 6 of 20
