Chapter 7: The Mother I Never Knew
The note trembled between my fingers.
ASK WHO YOUR MOTHER IS.
I read it again.
Then again.
The words refused to make sense.
My mother had died when I was twenty-three.
I had buried her.
I had held her hand in the hospital.
I had listened to her final breath.
I had spent years believing she was the woman who gave birth to me.
And now a dead man's handwriting was telling me that she wasn't.
Behind me, Daniel shouted,
“Sarah!”
I turned.
He was running down the stairs.
“Where's Emma?”
I held up the note.
“She was taken.”
His face went pale.
“By who?”
“I don't know.”
Michael appeared at the top of the stairs.
He looked almost amused.
“You still don't understand.”
I spun around.
“You know where she is.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I rushed toward him.
Daniel grabbed me before I could reach the stairs.
“Don't.”
I struggled against him.
“Let me go!”
“Sarah, listen.”
“My daughter is missing!”
“I know.”
“You knew this would happen!”
Daniel's expression broke.
“I tried to stop it.”
“You married me knowing who I was.”
“Yes.”
“You knew we were related.”
“Yes.”
“You knew someone wanted Emma.”
“Yes.”
“And you still let me bring her into this family.”
“I thought I could protect you.”
“You failed.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
The word came quietly.
But it hurt more than any excuse.
I looked at Michael.
“Where is Emma?”
He finally answered.
“She's with the only person who can tell you the truth.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother is dead.”
Michael smiled.
“No.”
I felt the room disappear around me.
“What?”
“She isn't.”
Daniel stared at him.
“That's impossible.”
Michael looked at Daniel.
“You should know better than anyone.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Michael turned toward me.
“Your mother has been alive for twenty-three years.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Where?”
He didn't answer.
“Where is she?”
“She has been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to find her.”
I stepped closer.
“Where is she?”
Michael reached into his coat and pulled out an old photograph.
He handed it to me.
The picture showed a woman sitting in a wheelchair outside a nursing facility.
Her hair was completely white.
Her face was older.
But I recognized her instantly.
My mother.
The woman I had buried.
The woman I had mourned.
Alive.
I dropped the photograph.
“No.”
Evelyn picked it up.
She stared at it.
Then she whispered,
“Elizabeth.”
My knees weakened.
“You know her?”
Evelyn nodded.
“She was my best friend.”
I looked at her.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she let me believe she was dead?”
“She didn't.”
“What?”
Evelyn looked toward Michael.
“He did.”
I turned.
Michael's expression remained calm.
“What did you do?”
“I protected her.”
“From what?”
“From Richard.”
I shook my head.
“Everyone keeps blaming Richard.”
“He deserves it.”
“But you were involved too.”
Michael smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
The honesty frightened me more than another lie would have.
“Where is my mother?”
“North Valley.”
“What is that?”
“A private care facility.”
“Take me there.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you have to find Emma first.”
I stepped forward.
“Where is my daughter?”
Michael looked toward the front door.
“Go to the old Carter house.”
“Why?”
“Because that's where it started.”
I grabbed his coat.
“Tell me exactly where she is.”
Michael looked down at my hand.
Then at me.
“She is in the basement.”
My heart stopped.
“The Carter house?”
“Yes.”
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
“Then I'm going.”
Daniel grabbed his keys.
“I'll drive.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You stay here.”
“Sarah—”
“You lied to me for years.”
He flinched.
“I don't trust you.”
He looked down.
“You shouldn't.”
That answer stopped me.
I expected him to argue.
Instead, he handed me his keys.
“Take my car.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because there is something you need to see.”
“What?”
“The passenger seat.”
I walked outside.
Daniel's car was parked beside the driveway.
I opened the passenger door.
A small pink backpack was sitting there.
Emma's backpack.
I froze.
Inside was her stuffed rabbit.
A juice box.
And a folded drawing.
I opened it.
It was a picture of our family.
Me.
Emma.
Daniel.
And someone else.
A woman standing behind us.
I recognized her.
The woman from the photograph.
Evelyn.
But Emma had drawn something strange.
There was a red line connecting Evelyn to me.
Then another red line connecting Evelyn to Emma.
At the bottom, in five-year-old handwriting, were four words.
Grandma knows Mommy.
I stared at it.
Emma knew.
Somehow, my daughter knew something none of us had told her.
I drove.
The old Carter house was abandoned.
The windows were boarded.
The front door hung crooked.
Daniel followed in another car.
Thomas and Evelyn came with him.
Margaret stayed behind.
We entered through the back.
The house smelled of damp wood.
I remembered visiting this place when I was younger.
Daniel had told me it was his childhood home.
I had never liked it.
There was something about the house that had always made me uncomfortable.
Now I knew why.
The basement door was open.
I heard crying.
“Emma!”
I ran downstairs.
“Mommy!”
Her voice came from behind a wall.
I followed it.
There was a small wooden door.
Locked.
“Emma!”
“Mommy!”
I tried the handle.
Nothing.
Daniel appeared behind me.
“Move.”
He kicked the door.
Once.
Twice.
The lock broke.
Emma was sitting inside.
Her wrists weren't chained.
She wasn't injured.
But she was terrified.
I grabbed her and held her against my chest.
“Baby!”
She buried her face in my neck.
“Mommy, I was scared.”
“Who brought you here?”
She pointed toward the corner.
A woman was sitting there.
I froze.
The woman slowly stood.
White hair.
Thin face.
A wheelchair beside her.
My heart stopped.
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Sarah.”
I couldn't breathe.
I stepped closer.
“You're alive.”
She nodded.
I touched her face.
Warm.
Real.
Alive.
I collapsed against her.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered,
“Why?”
She began crying.
“Because I had to disappear.”
“Why did you let me think you were dead?”
“I didn't.”
“Then who told me?”
“Michael.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Michael was standing there.
He hadn't followed us.
He was watching from the shadows.
My mother looked at him.
“You shouldn't have brought her here.”
Michael answered,
“She had to know.”
My mother shook her head.
“Not yet.”
I turned toward her.
“Know what?”
She looked at Emma.
Then at me.
“You were never supposed to marry Daniel.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don't know.”
“What?”
“You and Daniel are not half-siblings.”
I stared at her.
“But Evelyn said—”
“Evelyn lied.”
I turned toward Evelyn.
She stood at the basement entrance.
My mother looked at her.
“You lied because you were afraid.”
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked back at my mother.
“Then who is Daniel?”
My mother took a shaky breath.
“Richard's son.”
“And me?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“You are Michael's daughter.”
I froze.
The room became silent.
I turned toward Michael.
He looked away.
“No.”
My mother nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why does my DNA match Richard?”
“Because Richard was your biological grandfather.”
I felt sick.
“And Daniel?”
“Richard's son.”
I looked at Daniel.
He was pale.
“So we're not related.”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
A wave of relief hit me.
Then another question appeared.
“Then why did everyone say we were?”
My mother looked terrified.
“Because Richard wanted you to believe it.”
“Why?”
“To keep you from discovering who your father really was.”
I looked toward Michael.
He said nothing.
My mother continued.
“Richard didn't want you to know that Michael was the doctor who saved you.”
I frowned.
“Saved me from what?”
She reached into the pocket of her robe.
Pulled out a folded paper.
And handed it to me.
I opened it.
It was a hospital report.
My name was written at the top.
But beneath it was something that made my heart stop.
Patient: Baby Girl Carter.
Then, underneath:
Biological father: Michael Hayes.
I looked at my mother.
“Why was this hidden?”
“Because Richard discovered that you weren't his granddaughter.”
“But why would he care?”
My mother's eyes filled with fear.
“Because you inherited something from Michael.”
“What?”
She looked at Emma.
“A genetic marker.”
I frowned.
“What kind?”
“The kind Richard spent his entire life trying to find.”
I looked at Emma.
“What does my daughter have?”
My mother whispered:
“The same marker.”
My blood ran cold.
“What does it do?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“It identifies every child descended from the original Carter bloodline.”
I stared at her.
“Then why did Richard want Emma?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Because Emma is the first child in forty years who can prove what Richard did.”
“What did he do?”
My mother's hands began shaking.
She whispered:
“He didn't steal you.”
“He stole dozens of babies.”
I froze.
“And your daughter…”
She looked at Emma.
“…was born carrying the evidence.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Everyone turned.
Then the basement door slammed shut.
The lights went out.
Emma screamed.
Someone whispered from the darkness:
“Don't move.”
A man's voice.
Richard.
Then the smell of gasoline filled the basement.
And I heard him say:
“If I can't erase the evidence…”
May you like
A match struck.
“…I'll burn the entire family with it.”
