Chapter 5: The Setup Revealed

A chill crept through me.

Curiosity made me flip forward. I found the date right before I was born.

July 14, 1997

Linda’s about to give birth. Every day we wait for this new life, so happy. We’ve bought so many baby clothes. I grew up with hand-me-downs, but my kid won’t. Director Evans said the ultrasound shows it’s a boy. I want to name him Samuel, so he can wear a uniform and be a proud Marine like me. Linda says the name’s too old-fashioned. She suggested Samuel Whitaker, after my granddad, to keep the family line going.

July 16, 1997

Linda’s baby is kicking a lot. Sometimes I see his little feet through her belly. Looks like a wild one. Evans had a stomach bug, asked me to drive him to a meeting in Toledo tomorrow. I’m worried Linda might go into labor while I’m gone. But Dr. Evans’ wife just had her own baby three months ago and is still helping Linda. With her there, what’s to worry about?

Dad was always Director Evans’ driver. Dr. Evans’ wife was chief OB at the Maple Heights General Hospital. Their daughter really is three months older than me...

I searched for an entry about my birth, but there was nothing.

April 5, 1998

Today, I buried you beside my parents. Rest in peace, Linda. I’ll raise Sam well. I miss you so much.

Just a few words. Dad must have been broken after Mom died.

After that, the diary became more and more sparse. No wonder—a single dad with a low-paying job, raising a kid alone. The years wore him down.

A little after nine, I called my manager to ask for some time off. She was kind and told me to take as long as I needed.

I tried calling the customer who’d arranged the bag drop, but the number was still disconnected. No luck returning the package.

Dad’s phone was with the police. Without his contacts, I couldn’t reach his friends or coworkers. I suddenly felt completely alone.

I wandered the house, then picked up the notebook again to put it away. I wanted to leave everything as it was. If I missed Dad, I could sleep in his bed, breathe in his scent, maybe see him in my dreams.

Just as I slid the notebook into the drawer, a folded paper fell out. I opened it—a medical report from 2016.

It must have been Dad’s work checkup. I glanced at it and folded it back, but something nagged at me.

I took the notebook out again and looked at the report. The name said: Thomas Evans.

It was Director Evans’ report. Why did Dad keep it? There had to be a reason. I scanned the details.