Chapter 6: The Father Who Never Died
“Bring my daughter to me.”
The voice came from upstairs again.
I couldn't move.
Richard Carter.
The man whose funeral I had attended.
The man whose grave I had stood beside only hours earlier.
The man everyone had told me was dead.
Alive.
Inside Margaret's house.
And he had just called me his daughter.
My mind refused to accept it.
Daniel stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring upward.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Then a floorboard creaked.
I grabbed Daniel's arm.
“Where is Emma?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“You said she was taken.”
“Yes.”
“By your father?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
His jaw tightened.
“I haven't seen him since I was a teenager.”
“Then how do you know he's here?”
“Because he called me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My heart sank.
“You spoke to him yesterday?”
Daniel nodded.
“What did he say?”
“That the truth was coming out.”
I stared at him.
“You knew my daughter was in danger and you didn't tell me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That's everyone's excuse.”
A voice came from upstairs.
“Daniel.”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“Stay here.”
I grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
He pulled away.
“If he has Emma, I need to find her.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“You don't get to decide that anymore.”
Before he could respond, Thomas stepped between us.
“Neither of you goes upstairs.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Richard isn't alone.”
“Who is with him?”
Thomas's expression darkened.
“Someone worse.”
Then the lights went out.
The house plunged into darkness.
Margaret screamed.
Something crashed upstairs.
I heard a door slam.
Then a child's voice.
“Mommy!”
Emma.
I ran.
Daniel grabbed me.
“Wait!”
I fought him.
“That's my daughter!”
“It's a trap.”
I didn't care.
I raced up the stairs.
Daniel followed.
At the top, the hallway was empty.
“Emma?”
No answer.
I ran toward the bedroom.
The door was open.
The room was empty.
Then I saw the window.
It was wide open.
Curtains moved in the cold night air.
On the floor beneath the window lay Emma's stuffed rabbit.
I picked it up.
“Emma!”
Daniel stood behind me.
“She was here.”
I looked down.
There was mud on the floor.
Fresh mud.
Small footprints.
And beside them, much larger footprints.
Someone had carried her.
I followed the trail into the hallway.
It ended at a locked door.
I tried the handle.
Nothing.
“What's in there?”
Daniel looked terrified.
“Dad's old office.”
“Open it.”
“I don't have the key.”
Thomas appeared behind us.
“I do.”
He pulled a key from his pocket.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
The room smelled of dust and old paper.
A desk stood against the far wall.
Photographs covered it.
Dozens of them.
I stepped closer.
My breath caught.
They were photographs of me.
As a baby.
As a toddler.
As a teenager.
At school.
At my first job.
At my wedding.
At the hospital after Emma was born.
Someone had been watching me my entire life.
I picked up one photograph.
On the back was written:
“She must never know.”
Another:
“Keep her away from Carter blood.”
Another:
“If she has a daughter, take the child.”
My hands began shaking.
“Who wrote these?”
Thomas didn't answer.
I turned toward Daniel.
“Who?”
His face was pale.
“My father.”
I looked at him.
“He watched me?”
“Yes.”
“For my entire life?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Because you were the one person who could expose him.”
I turned toward the desk.
There was a file with my name.
I opened it.
Inside was a birth certificate.
A hospital record.
A photograph of my biological mother.
Evelyn.
And a DNA report.
But there was something else.
A handwritten confession.
I read the first line.
I did not steal Sarah. I saved her.
I looked at Evelyn.
She was standing in the doorway.
“I wrote that.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You said Margaret took me.”
“She did.”
“Then why does this say you saved me?”
“Because I gave you to her.”
My heart stopped.
“You gave me away?”
“I had no choice.”
“You always say that.”
Evelyn began crying.
“Richard was going to kill you.”
“Why?”
“Because you weren't supposed to be born.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You were evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
She looked at Thomas.
He answered.
“Richard wasn't your father.”
I frowned.
“But you just said—”
“I lied.”
My head spun.
“Then who is my father?”
Thomas looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked away.
Evelyn whispered:
“Your father was the man who exposed the adoption ring.”
“Who?”
“His name was Michael.”
I froze.
“Michael?”
My mother's name had always been Elizabeth.
There had never been a Michael.
“He was a doctor at the hospital,” Evelyn continued.
“He discovered that babies were being switched.”
“And Richard killed him?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“He disappeared.”
“Like you?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the photographs.
“What does any of this have to do with Emma?”
Evelyn's face changed.
“Everything.”
She walked to the desk.
She picked up a photograph.
It showed me holding newborn Emma.
On the back was written:
THE BLOODLINE CONTINUES.
I felt sick.
“Who took this?”
“Richard.”
“When?”
“The day Emma was born.”
I looked at Daniel.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of your father?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you let him near Emma?”
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
Daniel's expression changed.
He stared at the hallway.
“Mom.”
Margaret appeared behind him.
She looked terrified.
“I didn't know he was alive.”
“You gave him access.”
“No.”
“You gave him the hospital records.”
“I was forced.”
“By whom?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Your biological father.”
I froze.
“Michael?”
She nodded.
“But he's dead.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
She whispered:
“He's the man upstairs.”
My heart stopped.
I looked toward the ceiling.
“Richard isn't my father?”
“No.”
“Then who is?”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“Michael.”
The name echoed through the room.
Then a slow clap came from the hallway.
Everyone turned.
A man stepped out of the darkness.
He was older than I expected.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
A scar above his eyebrow.
But I recognized him.
Not because I'd met him before.
Because I had seen his photograph.
The man from Evelyn's old records.
The doctor who had supposedly disappeared.
Michael.
He looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Hello, Sarah.”
I couldn't speak.
He walked toward me.
“You've grown up beautifully.”
“Where's Emma?”
His smile disappeared.
“Safe.”
“Give her back.”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
He pointed toward a locked cabinet.
I heard something.
A faint sound.
A child's voice.
“Mommy?”
I ran toward it.
Michael blocked my path.
“Not yet.”
I screamed.
“Where is my daughter?”
“She is exactly where she needs to be.”
“Why?”
“Because she carries something that belongs to me.”
“What?”
He leaned closer.
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That Richard stole the wrong baby.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Michael smiled.
“Your daughter is not the child Richard has been searching for.”
I felt confused.
“Then who is?”
He pointed at me.
“You.”
I froze.
“You were the original child.”
“What?”
“The baby Richard tried to erase.”
Michael opened the cabinet.
Inside was a small box.
He took out an old hospital bracelet.
I looked at it.
My name was written there.
BABY GIRL.
And underneath was a date.
My birth date.
But there was another bracelet beside it.
Same date.
Same hospital.
Same mother.
Different name.
I picked it up.
My hands shook.
The name was:
Evelyn Carter.
I looked at Evelyn.
She began crying.
“That was my daughter.”
I stared at the bracelet.
Then at Michael.
“Who was the baby?”
He smiled.
“That's the secret Richard buried.”
“What secret?”
Michael leaned close.
“The woman you called your mother wasn't your mother.”
I stopped breathing.
“And the woman you called your grandmother wasn't your grandmother.”
My eyes moved toward Margaret.
She was crying.
Then Michael said the words that destroyed the last piece of certainty I had.
“Sarah, you weren't stolen from your family.”
He paused.
“You were stolen from yourself.”
A loud crash came from downstairs.
Everyone turned.
Then came Emma's scream.
“Mommy!”
I ran toward the stairs.
This time, nobody stopped me.
But when I reached the bottom, the front door was wide open.
Emma was gone.
And on the floor was a single note.
I picked it up.
May you like
There were only four words.
ASK WHO YOUR MOTHER IS.
