Chapter Ten — The Photograph
865 Words
For a moment, I forgot that the café was full of people.
I forgot about the sound of conversations around me.
The soft music playing in the background.
The cups moving across tables.
Everything disappeared.
Because all I could see was the photograph in my hand.
My mother.
A younger version of my mother.
Smiling.
Happy.
Alive.
I had seen pictures of her before, of course.
Old family photos.
Memories from a life I barely remembered.
But this was different.
This picture felt like a secret.
Like a piece of a story someone had hidden from me.
My fingers tightened around the edges.
And then I noticed him.
The person standing beside her.
Daniel.
Not the Daniel Hayes I knew.
Not the man who walked into rooms and made everyone become quiet.
Not the CEO everyone feared.
This version of him looked younger.
Different.
There was no coldness in his eyes.
No distance.
Just a boy standing beside my mother.
A boy who looked like he trusted her.
My eyes slowly moved back to Daniel.
“How?”
The word came out barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything.
“How do you have this?”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
For the first time since I met him, he looked like he didn’t know what to say.
The man who always had control.
The man who always had an answer.
Was silent.
“Daniel.”
He took a slow breath.
A deep one.
Like he was trying to choose every word carefully.
“I knew your mother.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“I didn’t know how.”
I laughed quietly.
But there was no humor in it.
“You didn’t know how?”
My voice became sharper.
“You knew who she was. You knew she existed. You knew I spent years thinking she abandoned me…”
I stopped.
Because my voice was starting to break.
I hated that.
I hated feeling like this in front of him.
Daniel noticed.
Of course he did.
He noticed everything.
His expression changed slightly.
“Amara…”
“No.”
I looked away.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you care.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
And the second they did, I regretted them.
Because something passed through his face.
Something hurt.
Just for a second.
Then it was gone.
“I do care.”
The answer was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
I looked back at him.
Daniel Hayes didn’t look like a powerful businessman.
He looked like someone admitting something he didn’t want to admit.
“You barely know me.”
“That’s not true.”
My eyebrows pulled together.
“What does that mean?”
He looked away.
And again, he chose silence.
I felt my frustration return.
“You’re impossible.”
A small breath escaped him.
“People have said that before.”
“I believe them.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Daniel reached for the photograph.
I pulled it away.
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“Amara.”
“This belongs to me.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you keep it?”
That question changed something.
The confidence disappeared.
The calm disappeared.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
“I didn’t keep it because I wanted to hide it from you.”
“Then why?”
His jaw tightened.
And I realized something.
Daniel Hayes wasn’t afraid of me being angry.
He was afraid of telling me the truth.
Finally, he said:
“Because every time I looked at it, I remembered the person I failed to protect.”
The words surprised me.
I stared at him.
Failed to protect?
Who?
My mother?
I wanted to ask.
I wanted to demand answers.
But before I could, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
The moment he saw the name, his expression changed.
Again.
A different kind of seriousness.
“What happened?” he answered.
I watched him carefully.
He listened.
His eyes moved to me.
And something about the way he looked at me made my stomach twist.
“Are you sure?”
A pause.
Then:
“Don’t let anyone leave.”
He ended the call.
“What is it?” I asked.
For a moment, he didn’t speak.
Then he looked at me.
“The person who gave you that photograph wasn’t working alone.”
My hands went cold.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel stood up.
“We need to leave.”
I stared at him.
“You’re not answering me.”
His eyes met mine.
And this time, there was no cold CEO.
No distance.
Just a warning.
“It means someone wanted you to see that picture.”
I swallowed.
“Why?”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Because they wanted you to start asking questions.”
A pause.
“And they know I’m the only person who can answer them.”
- Writer
