My hands were shaking.

I called Garrett.

He answered immediately.

“Did you find it?”

“No.”

Silence.

“Rebecca…”

“Someone took it.”

Another silence.

Then Garrett whispered:

“Don’t come to my room.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because someone is standing outside your bedroom.”

My blood went cold.

I looked toward the hallway.

I was alone.

Or so I thought.

Then my phone vibrated.

A text message appeared.

Unknown number.

STOP LOOKING FOR THINGS THAT DON’T BELONG TO YOU.

I stared at the screen.

A second message arrived.

YOUR FATHER COULDN’T SAVE YOU. DON’T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE.

My breath caught.

My father.

Nobody in this house should have known about him.

I called Garrett again.

He answered on the first ring.

“How do they know about my father?”

Garrett didn’t respond.

“Garrett?”

Finally, he said:

“Because they’re not watching you, Rebecca.”

He paused.

“They’ve been watching me for a long time.”

Then I heard a loud crash from Garrett’s bedroom.

He shouted.

“Rebecca, RUN!”

I dropped the phone and sprinted down the hallway.

When I reached his room, the door was open.

Garrett was still in his wheelchair.

But someone had overturned the bedside table.

His medical files were scattered across the floor.

And on the wall, written in thick black marker, were five words:

HE MUST NEVER WALK AGAIN.

I looked at Garrett.

He was staring at the message.

Then his eyes moved to me.

And for the first time since I had met him, I saw genuine fear on his face.

“Rebecca,” he whispered.

“What?”

He swallowed.

“The person who wrote that…”

He looked toward the dark hallway.

“…wasn’t trying to scare me.”

“Then what were they trying to do?”

Garrett slowly pointed toward the floor.

There, beneath the overturned table, was a photograph.

I picked it up.

It was a picture of Garrett in the hospital, taken eight months earlier.

But there was something else.

Someone had circled a person standing in the background.

A nurse.

I looked at Garrett.

“Who is she?”

His face went pale.

“That’s the woman who was in my hospital room the night I had my accident.”

I stared at the photograph.

“Why did you circle her?”

Garrett’s voice trembled.

“Because she was the last person I saw before I lost consciousness.”

“And?”

He looked directly into my eyes.

“Because three days ago, I found out she died.”

The room seemed to become colder.

“How?”

Garrett shook his head.

“That’s what I don’t understand.”

He pointed to the photograph.

“She died seven months ago.”

I looked at the date stamped on the back.

Then I realized what was wrong.

The photograph had been taken yesterday.

And the woman standing behind Garrett was wearing the exact same uniform.

The same face.

The same necklace.

The same scar above her eyebrow.

I slowly raised my eyes.

“Garrett…”

He nodded.

“I know.”

“Then who was standing behind you?”

Garrett’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“That’s the question I’ve been trying to answer.”

And somewhere downstairs, a door quietly slammed shut.

PART 3 — The Truth Behind the Door | Happy Ending

For several seconds, neither Garrett nor I moved.

The photograph lay between us.

The woman in the background looked directly at the camera.

Same face.

Same necklace.

Same scar.

But Garrett had said she had been dead for seven months.

“Call the police,” I whispered.

Garrett shook his head.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because if someone inside this house is involved, I need proof.”

I looked at him.

“You already have enough proof.”

“Not enough to protect you.”

Those words stayed with me.

After everything I had lost—my marriage, my home, the future I thought I was supposed to have—someone I had known for only a few days was worried about protecting me.

I took a deep breath.

“Then tell me everything.”

Garrett looked toward the closed door.

“My accident wasn’t an accident.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

“What happened?”

“Eight months ago, I was driving home from a board meeting. Someone tampered with my car.”

“Your brakes?”

He nodded.

“I survived. But the doctors told my family there was severe damage to my spinal cord.”

“And you started recovering.”

“Yes.”

“Then why did they want you to remain in the wheelchair?”

Garrett looked at me.

“Because if I walked again, I could take back control of my company.”

I didn’t understand.

“Your brother?”

“Douglas had been handling the company while I was recovering. At first, I trusted him.”

He gave a bitter smile.

“Then I discovered he had been transferring company money into accounts I didn’t recognize.”

My eyes widened.

“How much?”

“Enough to destroy the company.”

“And Gertrude?”

“She helped him.”

I remembered their conversations.

Their constant concern about Garrett.

Their insistence that he shouldn’t work.

Their questions about who visited him.

It suddenly made sense.

“They wanted you dependent.”

“Exactly.”

Garrett reached toward the drawer beside him.

“I found evidence six weeks ago.”

He removed a small flash drive.

“Everything is here. Bank transfers. Emails. Private messages. The plan to have me declared medically incapable of running the company.”

I stared at the drive.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Because one person inside the police department was giving them information.”

I felt a chill.

“How do you know?”

“Because every time I told my attorney something, Douglas knew about it within hours.”

Garrett looked at me.

“So I stopped trusting everyone.”

“Except me.”

He smiled faintly.

“Not at first.”

I almost laughed.

“That’s comforting.”

“It should be.”

For the first time, he smiled.

Then he became serious again.

“I needed someone who wasn’t connected to my family. Someone who understood medical care. Someone who wouldn’t panic when I told them I could move.”

I looked at my phone.

“The messages.”

Garrett nodded.

“They knew you found out.”

“How?”

“Because you weren’t the only person searching that study.”

A noise came from outside.

Garrett immediately reached for my hand.

“Someone’s coming.”

The doorknob moved.

Once.

Twice.

Then the door opened.

Douglas stood there.

His expression was calm.

Too calm.

“What are you two doing?”

Garrett stared at him.

“Talking.”

Douglas looked at me.

“At two in the morning?”

“I was checking his medication.”

Douglas stepped inside.

Then his eyes landed on the flash drive in Garrett’s hand.

His face changed.

Only slightly.

But enough.

“Give me that.”

Garrett didn’t move.

“No.”

Douglas closed the door behind him.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

Garrett’s voice remained calm.