Chapter 3 - Natalie’s Backpack
Ethan was medically evaluated that evening.
Dehydrated.
Hungry.
Frightened.
But physically stable.
William remained with him.
Isabella disappeared into another wing of the house before anyone could question her further.
The event ended early.
Guests were told there had been a family emergency.
I should have left.
Instead William asked me to stay.
“You found him.”
“I got lucky.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“You listened.”
That mattered to him.
Apparently not everyone had.
While Ethan rested, William told me about the red backpack.
Natalie had packed it shortly before she died.
She’d been diagnosed with aggressive pancreatic cancer and had only months left.
She created boxes for Ethan.
Birthday letters.
Photos.
Small gifts.
The backpack was supposed to be opened when he was older.
William stored it in a locked archival room.
“Where?”
He looked toward the corridor.
“Behind that wall.”
Not the tiny chamber Ethan had been locked inside.
A larger concealed room farther down the service passage.
The original owners had used it as document storage.
That was the room Isabella said William had told her didn’t exist.
“Why lie about it?”
“I didn’t lie to Isabella.”
“Then why did she say that?”
William looked uncomfortable.
“I told her there were parts of the house she didn’t need access to.”
“That sounds a lot like hiding something.”
He nodded.
“It was Natalie’s personal archive.”
Marriage documents.
Medical records.
Letters.
Financial statements.
Things he wasn’t ready to merge into his new life.
Understandable.
But secrecy had consequences.
Ethan apparently found the archive door open.
He went inside.
He found Natalie’s backpack.
Then Isabella caught him.
“What was she afraid he saw?”
William stared at the floor.
“I don’t know.”
Then Ethan woke and whispered:
“The picture.”
William leaned closer.
“What picture?”
Ethan looked toward me.
Then at his father.
“Mommy standing with Isabella.”
William’s face emptied.
“Isabella never met your mother.”
Ethan shook his head.
May you like
“Yes, she did.”
And if the five-year-old was right, William’s entire second marriage had begun with a lie.
