Chapter 9 - THE SECOND CHILD
We spent the night in a house I had never seen before.
David called it a safe house.
I called it another place where he had hidden a life from me.
Emily refused to sleep.
Neither did I.
At 4:30 a.m., Margaret placed coffee in front of me.
“You need to rest.”
“I've been resting for twenty-eight years.”
She looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I trusted people.”
She sat across from me.
“You trusted the wrong people.”
“Did my mother know?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Almost everything.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because you were safer not knowing.”
I looked toward the window.
“I'm not safer now.”
“No.”
“Then tell me.”
Margaret nodded.
“Your mother discovered that your father had been using the Carter Trust to finance illegal adoptions.”
I already knew that.
“What I didn't know was that Michael was born during one of those transactions.”
Margaret looked surprised.
“You know about Michael?”
“I know enough.”
She sighed.
“Michael was taken from your mother when he was six months old.”
I frowned.
“Then how did she get him back?”
“She didn't.”
The words hit me.
“What?”
“She never got him back.”
I felt dizzy.
“Then who raised him?”
“Your father.”
I stared at her.
“He raised my brother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael was the key to the trust.”
I shook my head.
“That makes no sense.”
“The trust had conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Only direct descendants could access it.”
“So Michael?”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
“You were excluded because your identity had been erased.”
My hands went cold.
“Then why did my mother protect me?”
“Because she knew your father would use you as leverage against Michael.”
I stared at the photograph of the twins.
“And the babies?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Michael eventually discovered the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That he wasn't abandoned.”
“He was stolen.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“He disappeared.”
I looked at her.
“Seven years ago.”
“Yes.”
“That's when David found him.”
“No.”
Margaret's voice became quiet.
“That's when David found someone claiming to be him.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Then where is the real Michael?”
Margaret didn't answer.
I already knew.
“He's alive.”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“Somewhere in Canada.”
I stood.
“We're going there.”
David entered the room.
“No.”
I turned.
“You don't get to decide.”
“It's too dangerous.”
“You've been telling me that for twenty-eight years.”
“I lost people.”
“So did I.”
He looked at me.
“You don't understand what will happen if they find you.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
“I have spent my entire life living inside a story other people wrote for me.”
I stepped closer.
“My mother wrote one version.”
“My father wrote another.”
“You wrote another.”
“I am done.”
David stared at me.
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You may hate me when you get it.”
“I already do.”
He flinched.
That hurt him.
I wanted it to.
Then the front door opened.
Emily entered.
She was holding a small envelope.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“This was under the door.”
She handed it to me.
There was no name.
Inside was a birth certificate.
I unfolded it.
My hands began shaking.
The child's name was:
LILY CARTER.
Mother:
Melissa Hart.
Father:
Michael Carter.
But beneath that was another document.
A DNA report.
The father wasn't Michael.
It was David.
I looked up.
David went pale.
Emily stared at him.
“You said there were two babies.”
“Yes.”
“You said one was missing.”
“Yes.”
“You said they belonged to my uncle.”
“Yes.”
She pointed at the DNA report.
“Then why does this say Dad is the father?”
David didn't answer.
I felt something snap inside me.
“Is Lily your daughter?”
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
“Where is Noah?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is Lily?”
David looked at me.
“She's alive.”
“Where?”
He swallowed.
“With your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then who has Lily?”
David whispered:
“Your mother's lawyer.”
I stared at him.
“What lawyer?”
He gave me a name.
“Jonathan Reed.”
The name meant nothing.
Then Margaret gasped.
“No.”
David turned.
“What?”
“He died twelve years ago.”
I looked at the birth certificate.
The handwriting.
The dates.
Something was wrong.
I flipped the paper over.
A handwritten note was attached.
Only six words:
THE TWINS WERE NEVER THE TWINS.
Emily stared at it.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice spoke.
“Claire.”
I froze.
Nobody had called me that in decades.
“Who is this?”
The woman laughed softly.
“Your sister.”
My blood turned to ice.
“I don't have a sister.”
“You do.”
“Who?”
A pause.
Then:
“The child your mother was told died before you were born.”
I couldn't breathe.
Emily grabbed my arm.
The woman continued.
“She survived.”
“Where is she?”
“Closer than you think.”
The line went dead.
I stared at David.
He looked terrified.
“Who was that?”
He whispered:
“I don't know.”
I shook my head.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“You know.”
He looked at Margaret.
Margaret's face had gone white.
She whispered:
“Your mother never had one child before you.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She had two.”
My heart stopped.
“One was you.”
“And the other?”
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
“She was the baby your father sold.”
The house suddenly went silent.
Then we heard footsteps upstairs.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone was walking through the second floor.
David reached for a gun hidden beneath his jacket.
Emily stepped behind me.
Margaret whispered:
“Don't move.”
The footsteps stopped.
A door opened.
Then a little girl's voice floated down the stairs.
“Mom?”
I couldn't breathe.
The voice came again.
“Mom, I've been looking for you.”
I looked at David.
His face had lost all color.
Because he knew the voice.
May you like
He whispered one word:
“Lily.”
