The tape hissed for a second before the image stabilized.
Emma sat on her neighbour's couch, legs pulled under her, the VHS player humming softly. The old screen flickered, and there he was—Michael Morgan, sitting in what looked like the spare room of a tiny flat. A pale blue wall behind him. A bookshelf with worn edges.
He looked older than in the photos. Worn, tired. But his eyes were the same.
Kind. Searching. Steady.
"Hi, sweetheart," he said, voice soft and hoarse, like it had gone unused too long.
"If you're watching this, it means you found the key. You found the unit. And maybe… maybe you believe me."
Emma clutched the pillow tighter. Her heart thudded in her ears.
"I don't know what Grace told you. I don't know what they told you. But I want to give you the version of events no one let me tell. Not the courts. Not the lawyers. Not the papers."
"I loved your mother once. She was brilliant. Charming. But when control slipped out of her hands… she became dangerous. Vindictive."
"She made me out to be something I wasn't. And with Richard's help, she buried the truth. The night she said I hit her? I was in the park, Emma. I have the photo. You've probably seen it by now."
Emma nodded, tears building.
"I didn't fight back in court because they threatened to take you from me permanently. Said they'd label me unstable. Said they'd hide you away. I thought—maybe if I backed off, you'd still get a peaceful life."
"But now, looking back… I should've fought. I should've screamed louder."
The camera jolted slightly as Michael adjusted the tripod.
"I left everything I could in that storage unit. Letters, documents, names. One of them—Bethany Ward—she helped me. She was a paralegal at Richard's firm. She risked everything to pass me some of the files. If she's still out there… she might know even more."
"I hope you find her. I hope… I hope you find yourself."
He paused, his voice thick.
"They tried to erase me, Em. But you are the proof that I existed. You are my miracle. Don't ever let anyone rewrite you again."
"I love you. Always have. Always will."
The screen flickered. Then went dark.
Emma didn't move for a full minute.
She couldn't.
It was as if her whole body had turned to stone—except her heart, which was breaking open for the second time.
⸻
Later That Night – Emma's Flat
She sat on the kitchen floor, papers spread in a ring around her. The painting of her—Michael's final canvas—leaned against the far wall.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number.
This time, a voice message.
She hesitated—then played it.
"My name is Bethany Ward. I used to work at Clarke & Hills, back in 1999. I knew your father, Emma. He was kind. Honest. They crushed him."
"I didn't come forward back then—I was scared. But I've kept everything. Richard doesn't know. Grace doesn't know."
"If you want the rest of the truth, come to London. There's a lockbox. Michael left instructions. I've been waiting to give it to you."
Emma stood slowly.
Bethany Ward.
The name from the tape.
She was real.
She hadn't just known Michael—she'd helped him. And now she was calling out from the shadows of the past, holding the final key.
⸻
Morning – Ravenshade Train Station
James met her at the platform, eyes bloodshot. "You sure you want to do this?"
"I have to," Emma said simply. "If my mother went this far to bury Michael, I need to know what she was trying to keep from me."
They boarded the early train to London, the fields of Ravenshade blurring behind them.
Emma sat with the file folder on her lap, one hand gripping the armrest.
In her coat pocket was the original brass key.
Around her neck, the necklace Michael had given her as a child—the one Grace had told her to stop wearing because it was "cheap."
But now, it felt like armor.
⸻
Last Scene – London Arrival
As they stepped off the train, a woman stood just beyond the gate.
Late 40s. Sharp eyes. Windswept coat. A tension in her stance like she hadn't stopped running in years.
"Emma?" she asked softly.
Emma nodded.
Bethany smiled sadly. "You look just like him."
Then, glancing around: "Let's not talk here. I have the files. But once you read them… there's no going back."
Emma took a breath.
"I've already gone back," she said. "Now I'm going forward."