Chapter 10 - I couldn't process the words.Born to me.

No.

It didn't make sense.

I was Emily Carter.

Daughter of Richard and Laura Carter.

Born at Saint Vincent.

Raised in this house.

Every photograph proved it.

Every birthday.

Every school record.

Every memory.

Jacqueline couldn't be my mother.

She had been my friend.

My best friend.

For twenty years.

She had known me since sophomore year.

She had watched me fall in love.

She had stood beside me when I became a mother.

She had held Sophie.

And now she was telling me she had given birth to me.

I stared at her.

"Prove it."

She nodded.

From her purse, she removed a photograph.

She was young.

Twenty-three.

Pregnant.

Standing beside my father.

On the back was a date.

My birth date.

I looked at her face.

Then mine.

The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

Same eyes.

Same jawline.

Same small scar above the eyebrow.

My hands began to shake.

Daniel whispered,

"Emily, listen."

I turned on him.

"Don't tell me to listen."

"Your father took you."

"You knew."

"Yes."

"And you married me anyway."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I was trying to protect you."

I laughed.

"You protected me by lying every day."

Daniel's eyes filled with tears.

"I loved you."

"Did you ever love Sophie?"

He froze.

That was enough.

I stepped away.

Jacqueline stood.

"I never stopped looking for you."

"You found me."

"Yes."

"And instead of telling me, you became my friend."

"I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of losing you again."

I wanted to hate her.

Part of me did.

But another part saw the devastated woman standing in front of me.

A mother who had spent decades believing her child was dead or stolen.

I asked,

"What happened after I was born?"

She told me everything.

She had been young.

My father had promised to marry her.

Then my mother discovered the pregnancy.

There was a fight.

My father decided the child would never be publicly acknowledged.

When Jacqueline refused to give me up, he threatened her.

Then came the hospital.

Two babies.

One opportunity.

My father's plan was to fake Jacqueline's baby's death and keep me.

Jacqueline panicked.

She switched the identity records.

She saved both girls.

But the plan went wrong.

My biological identity disappeared.

I was raised as Emily Carter.

Sophie was raised as my daughter.

Jacqueline spent years searching.

Then she found me.

But instead of exposing the truth, she watched me.

And when I married Daniel, she became desperate.

"Why now?" I asked.

"Because Thomas found the ledger."

"And he wants Sophie?"

"No."

"Then who?"

She stared at me.

"The ledger identifies everyone involved."

I understood.

Including Thomas.

Including Daniel.

Including my father.

Maybe even my mother.

"You said my mother wasn't my mother."

Jacqueline looked down.

"Laura loved you."

"That's not what I asked."

"She wasn't your biological mother."

"Then why did she raise me?"

"Because she couldn't have children."

I closed my eyes.

My entire childhood had been built on something I had never questioned.

Laura wasn't my biological mother.

But she was still my mother.

That distinction hurt more than I expected.

"Where is my biological daughter?"

Jacqueline went pale.

"Emily..."

"Where?"

A voice came from the hallway.

"She's here."

I turned.

A teenage girl stood there.

Green eyes.

Dark hair.

The scar.

My scar.

She looked terrified.

She was holding a backpack.

Daniel whispered,

"No."

I stared at her.

The girl looked at me.

Then said,

"My name is Sophie."

I nearly collapsed.

She stepped closer.

"I was told not to come here."

"Who told you?"

She looked at Daniel.

"He did."

I turned.

Daniel's face was devastated.

The girl continued,

"He told me to stay away from you."

"Why?"

"Because he said you'd hate me."

I stared at her.

My biological daughter.

Alive.

Fifteen years old.

Standing inside the house I had raised another child in.

I reached out.

She hesitated.

Then took my hand.

Her fingers felt familiar.

Like mine.

A tear slipped down her face.

"Are you really my mother?"

I couldn't speak.

So I nodded.

She cried.

I pulled her into my arms.

For fifteen years, I had believed I was holding my daughter.

Now, for the first time, I knew what it felt like to recognize my own blood.

But the moment I held her, the house alarm exploded into sound.

Every light went red.

The doors locked automatically.

A voice came through the intercom.

"Emily."

Thomas.

"You found her."

I looked toward the ceiling.

He continued.

"Now bring her to the basement."

I stared at the girl in my arms.

"Why?"

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His answer came through the speaker.

"Because she is the only person who can open the vault."