Chapter 3: The Name at the Bottom of the Note
The name was Daniel.
Not a last name.
Just Daniel.
Written in the same handwriting as the rest of the note, but pressed harder into the paper, like whoever wrote it had paused before committing to it.
My mouth went dry.
"Ellie," I said, without looking up.
"Go inside and get yourself a glass of water."
"But Mom—"
"Please."
She heard something in my voice.
She went.
I waited until the front door closed behind her.
Then I looked at Frank.
"Where did you get this?"
"Your father gave it to me," he said.
"A long time ago.
He told me to hold onto it until I found you."
"My father has been g*ne since I was twelve."
Frank's jaw tightened.
"I know."
"Then how—"
"He gave it to me before he left, Sarah." He leaned forward slightly against the truck window.
"He knew he wasn't coming back.
He made me promise that if anything ever happened to him, I would find you and give you that note."
The evening air felt suddenly thin.
"That doesn't explain Daniel," I said.
"Who is Daniel?"
Frank looked at me for a long moment.
His eyes were tired in a way that had nothing to do with age.
"Read the rest of the note first."
I looked back down at the paper.
*"If you're reading this, then Frank found you the way I asked him to.
I'm sorry it took so long.
I'm sorry for a lot of things.
But the most important one is Daniel.
He was real.
What happened to him was real.
And you deserve to know the truth, even if I was too much of a coward to tell you myself."*
My hands were shaking again.
I turned the note over.
There was one more line on the back, written smaller, like an afterthought — or like something added at the very last moment before sealing it.
*"Daniel is alive.
He has been looking for you too."*
I looked up at Frank.
"What does that mean?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Who is Daniel?"
Frank took a slow breath.
"Your brother, Sarah."
The street went quiet around me.
Somewhere down the block, a sprinkler clicked on.
A car passed.
The world kept moving like nothing had shifted.
"I don't have a brother," I said.
"You do," Frank said.
"You did.
You just weren't allowed to remember him."
"That's not—" I stopped.
Something moved at the edge of my memory.
Something I had spent thirty years not looking at directly.
"That's not possible."
"You were seven when they separated you," Frank said.
"Your mother told you he d*ed.
She told everyone he d*ed.
But he didn't."
My back hit the fence behind me.
I hadn't realized I'd stepped backward.
"Why would she do that?"
Frank looked down at the counter.
His hand rested flat on the surface, steadying himself.
"That's the part your father couldn't bring himself to write down," he said quietly.
"That's the part you're going to have to hear in person."
"From who?"
Frank reached into his shirt pocket and set a folded card on the counter between us.
"From Daniel."
I stared at the card.
A phone number.
A first name.
Nothing else.
"He's been waiting," Frank said.
"He just didn't know if you'd want to be found."
I picked up the card.
May you like
My fingers left a small damp print on the edge of it.
I didn't go back inside for a long time.
