Wordsmiths Fiction Week 4: Season 24 – The Family Secret

Julie stared at the name Jeremy Cates like it might leap off the page and offer her an explanation. The lawyer Mr. Gaines folded his hands on the polished oak desk and he was waiting patiently. Her older brother Daniel sat in silence beside her equally stunned.

Image by Primiano Panunzio from Pixabay

“We had no idea,” Daniel finally muttered, his voice low. “Dad never, he never said anything.” Julie clutched the folder, heart racing. Their father had been distant, yes, but secretive? This was beyond anything she could have expected. A third sibling meant an entire life none of them knew existed.

“Do we have an address?” she asked. Mr. Gaines shook his head. “Only the P.O. box. The condition of the will is clear until all three heirs acknowledge the inheritance, none of you may claim it.”

Julie left the office with her mind spinning. She did not care about the property. The old estate on the cliffs was more burden than blessing but the question burned hotter than any inheritance: Who was Jeremy?

Over the next few days Julie dug into every record she could find. She hired a private investigator, called old family friends, even looked through her father's military records. Nothing. Jeremy Cates didn’t seem to exist until he answered the letter.

A week after she mailed a carefully worded note to the P.O. box, she got a response. Typed, unsigned.

“I’m aware of the will. I didn’t expect you to find me. Meet me Friday, 3 PM, at the bench behind Holloway Diner. Come alone.”

Daniel was livid. “This feels like a trap.” But Julie felt something else a pull not of danger, but of something buried. She arrived early. The autumn air had begun to bite, the kind of crispness that hinted at early frost. The diner was mostly empty. She waited on the bench scanning every passerby. At exactly 3:00 PM a man approached.

Late thirties. Brown jacket. Familiar eyes. He didn’t sit, just stood a few feet away. “You’re Julie.” “You’re Jeremy.” A nod.

“You knew about us?” she asked. “All my life,” he replied. “But your father didn’t want you to know about me.” Julie’s breath caught. “Why?”

He hesitated, eyes darkening. “Because I was the result of a mistake. At least that’s what he said.” And then bit by bit the story came out. Their father had fallen in love before he met Julie’s mother. Her name was Elise. Young, wild, artistic. Their relationship ended abruptly when Elise moved to France. But she never told him she was pregnant.

Jeremy was raised in foster care after Elise died in a car accident. He was eleven when he received his first letter. It was handwritten with no return address.

It was from their father. “He didn’t want to raise me,” Jeremy said flatly. “But he watched. Paid for my schooling, sent gifts. I only met him twice both times at a park. No names, no hugs. Just stories and silence.”

Julie blinked away the cold shock curling in her chest. “He knew about you. All these years he knew.” Jeremy looked out across the parking lot. “I hated him for a long time. Then I got over it. I didn’t need a father by then. But this inheritance? It’s not for money. He left this for a reason.”

Julie handed him the folder. “Then let’s find out what.”

The following week all three siblings met at the family estate Jeremy, Julie, and Daniel. The house stood on the cliffs, wind whispering through the tall grass like secrets passed down generations. Their father had lived there for decades after retirement, alone, withdrawn, refusing even basic repairs.

Inside the place was dusty but intact. The grandfather clock still ticked. The violin stood in its corner. The old man’s study was exactly as they remembered bookshelves stuffed, a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the table.

Then Julie found a letter taped under the drawer.

To my children,
If you're reading this, then you’ve come together. That was always the point. I made mistakes. I failed each of you in different ways. Jeremy, I couldn’t be the father you deserved. Julie, I never let you ask the questions you wanted to. Daniel, I expected too much, too soon. But I loved you. In the attic, you’ll find a chest. Inside are three items. They belong to you equally as you belong to each other. Find peace if not with me then with one another.
—Dad

In the attic under a faded tarp they found the chest. Inside was a sketchbook worn and yellowed. Elise’s signature graced the first page and drawings of a young man in uniform. Their father. Jeremy touched it like a relic from another life.

The second item: a family photo. A real one. Jeremy as a boy. Julie and Daniel in their teens. All of them together digitally merged but smiling. A wish in photographic form. The third: the old violin but this time with a cassette tape attached. They played it in the study.

It was their father playing the lullaby their mother used to hum. A piece called “Three Notes.” Not a masterpiece. Just three notes, repeated and blended. Like three lives, finally in harmony. Tears fell freely. Not out of pain. But out of release. They didn't get back lost years. But they got something better a beginning.

I would like to invite @chant, @suboohi and @josepha to join this contest and show up with their own fictional story.