Chapter 4 Abigail Turner

Chapter 4: Abigail Turner

Damien sat in his study, the soft hum of the computer filling the room. He was reviewing the wedding footage, meticulously scanning each frame to identify the person who had handed him the mysterious letter. Despite replaying segments multiple times, the footage offered no clarity-too many faces, too many hands. Frustration crept in as he leaned back, the trail having gone cold.

A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts.

"We should get going," Naomi's voice called softly.

"Be right there," he replied, closing the laptop.

---

Naomi's heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she stepped into the exclusive restaurant-the kind where menus had no prices, and the floral arrangements probably had their own stylist. Everything about the place oozed elegance, from the muted lighting to the crisp white tablecloths.

But what made it even more striking was the fact that they were the only ones there.

Of course, Naomi thought, glancing around. Typical Everhart.

Genevieve and Charles were already seated, their faces lighting up the moment they saw her.

"Naomi, darling!" Genevieve stood, arms open wide.

"Hi, Genevieve," Naomi greeted warmly, hugging her tightly. "Hi, Charles."

Charles nodded, a rare smile tugging at his usually stern expression.

Moments like these touched something soft in Naomi. With her own father absent-by choice more than distance-the Everharts had quickly become the parental figures she never knew she needed.

They eased into conversation, chatting about recent events, art, and travel plans. Laughter came easily.

"You know," Naomi said at one point, swirling her drink lightly, "my mom always said, 'Attending events introduces you to the right people.' She wasn't really wrong."

Damien leaned closer with a grin. "Smart woman. If she hadn't nudged you out of your cave, we might never have met."

"Probably would've been buried in books somewhere, completely unaware of your annoying charm," Naomi teased.

"I'm glad you listened to her," Genevieve said, her voice soft with genuine warmth. "She must've been a remarkable woman."

Naomi smiled. "She really was."

Then, as casually as she could manage, she added, "Her full name was Abigail Turner-though she always said it sounded too formal, like she should've been reading the news or something."

There was a pause.

A long one.

No recognition flickered across either of their faces-not from Genevieve, not from Charles, and not even from Damien. Naomi swallowed a small lump in her throat.

Even if his parents hadn't noticed her mother in a sea of guests... Damien should have. I've shown him her photos before.

But maybe... she just wasn't important enough to remember.

She blinked the thought away, forcing a smile as she reached for her water.

Genevieve reached across the table, her hand warm as it settled over Naomi's.

"Sweetheart, think of me as your mother now, alright? And if Damien ever gives you trouble-" she shot her son a pointed look, "-you come straight to me."

Naomi laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders.

"Deal," she said, squeezing Genevieve's hand in return.

Damien leaned back with a dramatic sigh. "Wow. Betrayed. In front of the grilled lobster."

"I trust your mother more," Naomi said with a wink.

Even Charles cracked a smile at that.

Laughter circled the table like music, the kind that made Naomi feel like maybe, just maybe, she really did belong here.

__

Naomi wasn't looking for anything.

She was just tired of sitting still. After the lunch with Damien's parents and a short nap she barely drifted off into, she felt restless. The quietness of the house - the stillness of it - was starting to feel a little too loud. Damien had stepped out to take a business call, so she decided to walk around, maybe grab a book from the sitting area they passed earlier.

Her foot caught slightly on the edge of the rug as she entered the room, and she reached for the nearest table to steady herself. A small gust of wind crept through the window Damien had cracked open earlier, and a few papers on the desk fluttered. Most of them stayed in place, but one slid to the floor.

Naomi bent down to pick it up - just a plain beige envelope.

And then she froze.

Stamped in bold black ink near the corner were the numbers: 10:32AM.

Her breath hitched. She recognized this.

It was the same letter from their wedding day - the one Damien picked up from the gift table and told her was nothing. She hadn't opened it. Hadn't even asked again. But she'd noticed the time stamp. It was odd, oddly specific. And it stuck with her, even after she brushed it off.

She glanced toward the hallway. Still empty. Damien wasn't back yet.

Slowly, carefully, she opened the flap.

The letter slid out, already creased from being read. The handwriting was strange. Rushed. Like someone wrote it with too much pressure and too much anger. Her eyes scanned the words.

"To the groom with blood on his hands..."

"You thought love would bury the past?"

"You thought she'd never know?"

"Tick-tock, lover boy. Secrets don't stay buried forever."

Her chest tightened.

She read it again.

And again.

Her fingers began to tremble slightly, and she sat down on the edge of the couch before her knees gave out. The letter rested in her lap. Her breathing had changed - not panicked, not yet, but unsteady. Unsettled.

Tick-tock.

That word stood out like it had been underlined.

It tugged at a memory. Familiar. Annoyingly familiar.

Rachel. Her best friend. Rachel said that all the time.

"Tick-tock, Naomi! We're going to be late!"

"Tick-tock, decision time!"

The memory was so clear it gave her goosebumps.

Naomi frowned. The handwriting didn't look like Rachel's. It didn't look like anyone she knew. But the word - it didn't sit right. It was just enough to make her stomach turn.

Why hadn't Damien shown this to her? Who sent this?

Naomi folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, but she didn't put it down. She held it in her lap, staring at it like it might change or rearrange itself

Her breath came a little heavier now.

And suddenly, the silence of the house felt even louder than before.