Chapter 9: The Woman Behind the Bullet
The sound of the gunshot tore through the night.
Glass exploded across the pavement.
Emma screamed.
I threw myself over her.
“Mommy!”
“Get down!”
Daniel grabbed the ambulance door and pulled it shut.
Another shot rang out.
The bullet struck the metal frame inches from my head.
“Stay down!” Thomas shouted.
Firefighters scattered.
Someone yelled for the police.
I held Emma against my chest.
She was shaking so violently that her teeth were chattering.
“Mommy, what's happening?”
“It's okay.”
It wasn't.
Nothing was okay.
The man across the street lowered his weapon.
For a moment, I could see his face beneath the streetlight.
He wasn't Richard.
He wasn't Michael.
I had never seen him before.
Then a black SUV screeched around the corner.
The gunman jumped inside.
The vehicle disappeared into the darkness.
Police cars arrived less than a minute later.
But the shooter was already gone.
One officer inspected the ambulance.
“Everyone okay?”
I nodded.
“She's terrified.”
The officer crouched beside Emma.
“What's your name?”
Emma whispered,
“Emma.”
He smiled gently.
“Emma, you're safe now.”
I looked at the shattered window.
Safe.
The word felt almost insulting.
For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to have nowhere truly safe to go.
The house had burned.
My daughter had been kidnapped.
A supposedly dead man was alive.
My mother had been alive all along.
My husband had known our marriage was built on a lie.
And now someone was trying to kill my five-year-old daughter.
I turned toward Michael.
“Who was that?”
He didn't answer.
“Who was he?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at him.
“You're lying.”
“I don't know his name.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
He looked toward the road.
“He works for Richard.”
My stomach dropped.
“Richard has people?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Does he know where Emma is?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Then we're leaving.”
Michael stepped forward.
“No.”
I turned.
“No?”
“You can't go home.”
“Why?”
“Because your house is being watched.”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
“When?”
“Before we came here.”
I stared at him.
“You knew someone was watching us?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you warn me?”
“Because I wasn't sure.”
I almost screamed.
“You weren't sure?”
Michael lowered his voice.
“I needed to know who was following you.”
“And now?”
“Now we know.”
“Who?”
He looked at Emma.
“Richard.”
I felt my blood turn cold.
“He wants her alive.”
“Why?”
“Because she is the only person who can lead him to the original records.”
“What records?”
“The records proving the children were switched.”
I shook my head.
“Why would a five-year-old be able to lead him to documents?”
“She can't.”
“Then what does he need her for?”
Michael hesitated.
“Her DNA.”
I looked at Emma.
“She doesn't know anything.”
“She doesn't need to.”
“What does he want from her?”
“Her blood.”
I felt sick.
“You're talking about taking blood from a child?”
Michael nodded.
“Richard believes her genetic sequence can unlock an old identification system.”
“What identification system?”
“Something Richard's father built.”
Thomas interrupted.
“A system that was never supposed to exist.”
I looked at him.
“What kind of system?”
“DNA indexing.”
My stomach tightened.
“An illegal database?”
“Yes.”
“Of the stolen children?”
“Yes.”
“Then why can't you destroy it?”
“Because nobody knows where the original database is.”
I looked at Emma.
“And Richard thinks she can find it.”
“Exactly.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Where is the database?”
Thomas shook his head.
“We don't know.”
Michael looked at me.
“But Richard does.”
I stared at him.
“Then why hasn't he destroyed it?”
“Because it contains something he needs.”
“What?”
“Proof that he is not who he claims to be.”
The words hung in the air.
I frowned.
“Who is Richard?”
Michael's expression changed.
“That is the question.”
Thomas looked at him.
“Tell her.”
Michael remained silent.
I stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
He finally said,
“Richard Carter is not Richard Carter.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“He stole that identity.”
“From whom?”
“From his own brother.”
I looked at Thomas.
“Your brother?”
Thomas nodded.
“Richard was born Thomas Carter.”
I felt dizzy.
“What?”
“He switched identities with his brother after their father died.”
“Why?”
“To inherit the family estate.”
I stared at the burned house.
“So the man we called Richard…”
“Was actually someone else.”
“Then where is the real Richard?”
Michael looked toward the dark road.
“Dead.”
“Who killed him?”
Silence.
Then Thomas whispered,
“I did.”
I froze.
“You?”
Thomas nodded.
“I killed the man who was pretending to be my brother.”
“Why?”
“Because he killed Evelyn.”
I turned toward Evelyn.
She was crying silently.
“He didn't kill me,” she whispered.
“He tried.”
I looked at her.
“What happened?”
Evelyn took a breath.
“Richard discovered I was going to expose the adoption records.”
“So he tried to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“But you survived.”
“Barely.”
“Then why did everyone think you were dead?”
“Because Michael created a new identity for me.”
I looked at Michael.
“And my mother?”
“She was hidden too.”
“And me?”
“You were given to Elizabeth.”
I stared at my mother.
“Why?”
“She was the only person Richard couldn't find.”
I looked at Emma.
“And now he found us.”
“Yes.”
A police officer approached.
“We need everyone to leave the area. This property is now a crime scene.”
I nodded.
Then I noticed something on the ground.
A small envelope.
It had fallen from the ambulance.
I picked it up.
My name was written on it.
SARAH.
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed the woman from the earlier picture.
My supposed twin sister.
But this photograph was different.
She was older.
And she was standing beside a little girl.
The little girl was about five years old.
She had the same eyes as Emma.
I stared at the photograph.
Then I saw the date.
It had been taken only three months earlier.
I looked at Michael.
“This woman has a daughter.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
His expression became grim.
“You already know.”
I looked at the little girl again.
My heart stopped.
It was Emma.
Not a photograph of Emma.
Not someone who looked like her.
Emma herself.
Wearing the same pink dress she had worn at her birthday party.
Standing beside the woman who was supposedly my twin sister.
But that photograph had been taken three months before the birthday party.
My hands began shaking.
“That isn't possible.”
Michael didn't answer.
“Where was this taken?”
He pointed toward the photograph.
A building stood behind them.
I recognized it.
The private care facility where my mother was supposedly being kept.
I turned toward her.
“You've met Emma before.”
My mother began crying.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before she was born.”
I felt like I was drowning.
“What does that mean?”
My mother looked at Emma.
“Your daughter was brought to me before you ever saw her.”
I stared at her.
“Who brought her?”
She whispered,
“Your sister.”
I couldn't breathe.
My twin sister had met my daughter before I had.
But why?
And how?
Then Emma suddenly spoke.
“Mommy?”
I knelt beside her.
“What is it, baby?”
She pointed at the photograph.
“I know her.”
I froze.
“Who?”
She touched the face of the woman.
“The lady who came to Grandma's house.”
My blood went cold.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I stared at her.
“Did she talk to you?”
Emma nodded.
“What did she say?”
Emma looked frightened.
“She said…”
“What?”
“She said I'm not supposed to call you Mommy.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“What was I supposed to call you?”
Emma whispered:
“Mommy's sister.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The woman who looked exactly like me.
My twin.
The woman everyone had spent decades hiding.
And then I noticed something written on the back.
A name.
Rachel Hayes.
My twin had a name.
Rachel.
And beneath it was another sentence.
Rachel knows what happened to the second baby.
I looked at my mother.
“Mom, who is Rachel?”
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
“Your sister isn't the second baby.”
I stared at her.
“Then who is?”
My mother looked at Emma.
“The second baby is still alive.”
A police siren wailed in the distance.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then I heard a child's breathing.
Emma's breathing.
I looked at my daughter standing beside me.
She was right there.
So whose child was on the phone?
A little voice whispered:
“Mommy…”
I felt every drop of blood leave my face.
It was Emma's voice.
But the girl beside me wasn't speaking.
The voice continued:
“Mommy, don't trust the woman who looks like you.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Then Rachel stepped out of the shadows across the street.
She was holding a little girl by the hand.
The girl looked exactly like Emma.
Rachel smiled.
And said:
“You finally found me.”
May you like
Then she looked down at the child beside her.
“And now you need to meet your other daughter.”
