Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE
The door at the end of the hallway opened another inch.
I couldn't move.
David stood beside me, breathing hard.
Emily was clutching my arm.
Melissa had stopped crying.
Everyone was staring at that door.
Then a woman stepped out.
She was old.
Perhaps seventy.
Silver hair.
Black coat.
A thin scar ran from beneath her left eye to the edge of her jaw.
David whispered her name.
“Margaret.”
The woman smiled.
“You finally brought her.”
I stared at David.
“Who is she?”
He didn't answer.
Margaret looked at me.
“Your mother knew this day would come.”
My heart pounded.
“You knew my mother?”
“I worked for her.”
“Doing what?”
“Keeping you alive.”
I almost laughed.
“David just told me I was never supposed to survive.”
Margaret's eyes moved toward him.
“He's telling you only half the truth.”
Of course.
Another half-truth.
Another locked door.
Another person who knew my life better than I did.
I stepped forward.
“Tell me everything.”
Margaret looked at Emily.
“Not here.”
“Here.”
She studied me for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“Your mother had discovered what your father was doing.”
“What was he doing?”
“Selling people.”
The words sounded insane.
But nothing about that night was normal anymore.
Margaret continued.
“He operated a private adoption network. Babies were taken from vulnerable women and placed with wealthy families through forged records.”
Emily went pale.
“The babies were stolen?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“What does this have to do with Michael?”
“Michael wasn't your mother's first child.”
I stared at her.
“Then who was?”
Margaret looked directly at me.
“You.”
The hallway seemed to disappear.
“What?”
“Your mother was told you died shortly after birth.”
I shook my head.
“That isn't possible.”
“She was given a death certificate.”
“Then how am I here?”
“Because she discovered you were alive.”
My hands began trembling.
Margaret continued.
“Your father had arranged for you to be sold.”
Emily covered her mouth.
David stepped closer.
“Margaret.”
She ignored him.
“Your mother stole you back.”
I could barely breathe.
“She took you from the family who had paid for you and hid you under a new identity.”
I stared at her.
“My identity?”
“Yes.”
“What was my real name?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then she said it.
“Claire.”
I shook my head.
“My name is Anna.”
“That is the name your mother gave you.”
“Why?”
“To make you impossible to find.”
I turned toward David.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before we married.”
My heart broke again.
“You knew my entire identity was a lie.”
“Not a lie.”
“A protection.”
“Your mother asked me to keep you safe.”
“Then why did you marry me?”
David's face crumpled.
“Because she asked me to.”
Silence.
I couldn't hear anything after that.
My mother had arranged my marriage.
My husband had entered my life because she asked him to.
Everything I had believed about the beginning of our relationship suddenly felt unreal.
“How did we meet?”
“At the hospital.”
“That's what you told me.”
“It was true.”
“Was it?”
David looked at me.
“No.”
I stepped back.
“Then tell me.”
“You had been injured.”
“When?”
“You were twenty-six.”
“I don't remember.”
“You were drugged.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was trying to find you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
David reached for me.
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.”
He stopped.
Emily was crying now.
“Mom…”
I looked at her.
She was the only thing in that hallway that still felt real.
I walked toward her.
She wrapped her arms around me.
For several seconds, I simply held my daughter.
Then Margaret spoke.
“There is something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Your mother didn't die of natural causes.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She was murdered.”
David closed his eyes.
“I knew.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew my mother was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe she died peacefully?”
“She wanted you to believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because the person who killed her was still looking for you.”
I couldn't speak.
Margaret reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small envelope.
“My mother gave this to me.”
I stared at it.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
My mother's handwriting.
My name was written across it.
For my daughter, when she is ready.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Only three sentences.
Claire,
If David ever tells you the truth, do not trust the first person who claims to be your brother.
The man you are looking for is not Michael.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
I looked up.
David was staring at me.
Emily whispered:
“What does it say?”
I couldn't answer.
Margaret did.
“Your mother believed Michael had been replaced.”
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone had been pretending to be your brother for years.”
David finally spoke.
“And I know who.”
Before he could say the name, the hotel lights went out.
A gunshot exploded somewhere below us.
Emily screamed.
Margaret grabbed her.
David pushed me against the wall.
Another gunshot.
Then another.
Footsteps thundered up the staircase.
Margaret whispered:
“They're here.”
I looked at David.
“Who?”
May you like
He answered:
“The people who don't want you to remember who you really are.”
