Chapter 2 - The Crescent Moon
The fourth button refused to cooperate.
My fingers were trembling too badly.
Adrian noticed.
“You're going to rip it.”
“Then stop buying shirts with ridiculous buttons.”
“They're normal buttons.”
“They cost more than my refrigerator.”
“You don't know what they cost.”
“I know rich-people buttons when I see them.”
His mouth twitched.
For a moment, the humiliation disappeared from his face.
That was when I understood why he fought everyone who helped him.
It wasn't because he enjoyed cruelty.
He hated being watched while someone did the things his own body once allowed him to do without thinking.
So I stopped treating the moment like something delicate.
“Lift your arm.”
He did.
“Other one.”
He obeyed.
“See? We're surviving.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I pulled the shirt farther open.
And saw the mark.
Small.
Dark.
Just below his collarbone.
A crescent moon.
The bathroom vanished.
For one impossible second, I wasn't thirty-two.
I was twelve.
Rain hammered against windows.
Someone was shouting downstairs.
My mother grabbed my shoulders hard enough to hurt.
“Claire, listen to me.”
Lightning flashed.
A man's voice came from the hallway.
Then I saw the necklace around Adrian's neck.
Old silver.
A flattened oval pendant with a narrow crack along one edge.
My lungs stopped working.
No.
It couldn't be.
I reached toward it without realizing what I was doing.
Adrian caught my wrist.
“Claire?”
The room tilted.
“Where…”
My voice broke.
“Where did you get that?”
His grip loosened.
“What?”
“That chain.”
I stared at the pendant.
I knew the crack.
I knew the tiny engraved line near the clasp.
I'd held it in my hands as a child.
Twenty years ago.
Before my mother took it away.
Before a man disappeared.
Before she made me promise never to say his name again.
“Claire.”
Adrian's voice sounded far away.
My knees hit the marble.
Pain shot through them, but I barely felt it.
He moved his chair closer.
“What happened?”
I covered my mouth.
“Who gave you that?”
He touched the pendant.
“My mother.”
“No.”
His expression sharpened.
“What do you mean, no?”
“She couldn't have.”
“You've never met my mother.”
“I don't need to.”
My eyes went back to the crescent mark.
That mark.
I remembered another storm.
Another room.
A frightened woman pressing a blanket into my mother's arms.
A baby crying.
Then nothing.
Or almost nothing.
Memories don't disappear because we bury them.
They rot underground.
Then one day something digs them up.
“Claire, look at me.”
I couldn't.
“Look at me.”
I forced my eyes upward.
His anger had disappeared.
What remained was fear.
“You recognize this necklace.”
I said nothing.
“That wasn't a question.”
“I need to go.”
“You're in the middle of my care.”
“I'll get Evelyn.”
I stood too quickly and nearly fell.
Adrian caught my forearm.
“Tell me.”
“I can't.”
“Can't or won't?”
“Both.”
His face hardened.
“Then leave.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Adrian—”
“Get Evelyn. Then get out.”
My chest tightened.
I needed this job.
I needed the money.
But the necklace hanging against his chest had once belonged to Daniel Dawson.
My father.
And Daniel Dawson had vanished twenty years ago.
My mother told everyone he'd abandoned us.
Three months later, she told me he was dead.
She never explained how she knew.
I backed toward the door.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
His voice turned cold.
“You lasted three days.”
That hurt.
More than it should have.
I found Evelyn in the hall.
She took one look at my face.
“What happened?”
“I can't finish.”
“Did he say something?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I looked through the doorway.
Adrian was watching us.
His shirt hung open.
The crescent moon remained visible.
I whispered, “I know him.”
Evelyn frowned.
“What?”
“Not him.”
My voice shook.
“Something about him.”
I left before she could stop me.
I didn't sleep that night.
At two in the morning, I opened the battered metal box I'd carried through four apartments and one divorce.
Inside were photographs.
My parents' marriage certificate.
A newspaper clipping.
And a picture of my father holding me when I was six.
Daniel Dawson had dark hair and a crooked smile.
Around his neck was the same silver chain.
I turned the photograph over.
My mother's handwriting covered the back.
Summer, 1998. Daniel and Claire. Before everything changed.
I stared at the words until sunrise.
At seven thirty, someone knocked.
I opened the door expecting my landlord.
Evelyn stood there.
Her expensive coat looked absurd in our hallway.
“How did you find me?”
“You filled out employment paperwork.”
Right.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Bennett wants you back.”
I laughed once.
“He fired me.”
“He changed his mind.”
“Why?”
“He hasn't slept.”
“That sounds like his problem.”
“It became mine around four this morning.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Evelyn looked past me.
Brandon was asleep on the couch.
Emma stood behind him clutching her doll.
Something softened in Evelyn's expression.
“So this is why.”
“Why what?”
“You wouldn't quit.”
I folded my arms.
“I can't go back.”
“Because of the necklace?”
My head snapped up.
“He told you?”
“He told me enough.”
“I can't explain.”
“Then don't explain it to me.”
She held out an envelope.
Inside was my week's salary.
“I didn't earn this.”
“Mr. Bennett says you did.”
“I worked three days.”
“He says you endured three days with him, which apparently counts as seven.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then I saw something else in the envelope.
A photograph.
I pulled it out.
A younger Adrian stood beside an elegant dark-haired woman.
His mother.
Behind them stood a man.
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
Evelyn caught it.
“You know him?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
The man was older than in my photographs.
Gray at his temples.
But I knew that face.
“That's my father.”
Evelyn went still.
“What?”
I took the photograph back.
“Where was this taken?”
“The Bennett estate.”
“When?”
“Approximately fourteen years ago.”
“That isn't possible.”
“Why?”
“Because my father died twenty years ago.”
Neither of us spoke.
Finally Evelyn said, “Claire, I think you need to come with me.”
Adrian was waiting in his study when we arrived.
The necklace sat on the desk.
He'd removed it.
Beside it were several photographs.
I held up the one Evelyn had given me.
“Who is this man?”
He looked at it.
“Daniel.”
My knees weakened.
“You knew his name?”
“Of course.”
“Who was he?”
Adrian hesitated.
“A groundskeeper at first. Later, my mother's driver.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“Fourteen, maybe fifteen.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“No. My father disappeared twenty years ago.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“What was his last name?”
“Dawson.”
His face changed.
He opened a drawer.
Inside was an old envelope.
Written across the front were three words.
FOR CLAIRE DAWSON.
My blood turned cold.
“Where did you get that?”
Adrian stared at me.
“Daniel gave it to me.”
I could barely breathe.
“When?”
He swallowed.
May you like
“The night he died.”
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