Chapter 1A Dead Womans Final Signature

Three days before the wedding, during the final fitting of my dress, the phone rang.

“Ellie.”

Just two syllables, and I knew exactly who it was.

But we hadn’t spoken in eight years.

The last time I saw him, he was at the prenatal clinic, guiding her through the door.

“What do you want?” I kept my voice flat, professional.

The sharp intake of breath on the other end was audible, and his voice came back, strained and urgent:

“Ellie, I heard you’re getting married. Can you let me see your mother?”

“The three of us. A family reunion.”

A reunion?

I lowered my head, my fingers automatically touching the silver locket hidden beneath the lace. Inside, two small, laminated black-and-white photos: my mother and me. I gave a short, brittle laugh.

“You want to see my mother? Wait until you’re dead.”

* * *

I hung up, and Jack stepped out of the fitting room.

He saw the locket open on my chest and his warm smile faded just a touch.

“Thinking about your mom again?”

He drew me into his embrace, his hug gentle but with a subtle, cautious probe in his voice.

“It’s been so many years, El. Are you sure you don’t want to invite your father to the wedding?”

My body stiffened in his arms, turning instantly cold.

“He stopped being my father eight years ago.”

“But—”

Jack started to say something more, but my phone rang again.

It was my grandmother.

She said Victor—my father, Victor Hayes—had somehow found out about the wedding. He was hounding her, demanding to be there. She asked if I wanted to tell him the truth about Mom.

My face felt like stone. I replied, one word at a time.

“Ignore him.”

Ever since that day, eight years ago, I haven’t had a father.

Grandma simply hummed, not pressing the issue. But right before she hung up, she sighed, a sound worn smooth by time and grief.

“Ellie, honey, the things that happened back then… it wasn’t easy for your dad, either.”

Grandma had forgiven him.

My eyes burned, and I almost laughed aloud—a harsh, ugly sound I barely managed to swallow.

I didn’t understand.

My mother was the one who was betrayed, thrown out of her home, and ultimately, who died of a broken heart.

Eight years later, how could anyone say he was the one who didn’t have it easy?

Was it just because he was my father? Because of some flimsy, so-called blood tie?

What a joke.

I ended the call, changed out of the beautiful silk wedding dress, grabbed my car keys, and headed for the door.

Jack followed me out, his expression worried.

“Ellie, where are you going? Not back to the hotel?”

“No. To the cemetery. To see my mother.”

The black Audi pulled up to the gates of Evergreen Cemetery.

I got out, bought a bunch of lilies—Mom’s favorite—and knelt expertly before the tombstone in the third row, seventh plot.

“Mom, I’m here.”

I carefully arranged the lilies in front of the smooth granite, then tugged on Jack’s arm.

“This is your son-in-law, Jack Dawson. We’re getting married the day after tomorrow.”

I paused, pressing down the sob that threatened to rise.

“And Mom, he came looking for me.”

“Grandma said he wants to attend the wedding. I said no.”

“Don’t worry. I will never forgive him for you.”

“I miss you, Mom.”

I spoke softly, my hand brushing away a stray piece of dust from the engraving.

It revealed a face that was a softer version of my own—gentle, smiling. It was a photo from her happiest day.

My father’s company had just gone public; I had just been accepted into my dream university.

At my acceptance party, the photographer had captured the unconcealed pride and love in her eyes as she looked at my father and me.

It was her most joyful image, the one that spanned years of sacrifice.

None of us could have known then that this photograph would be the one etched onto her tombstone, just eight years later.