Chapter 8: The Children Who Weren’t His
The recording stopped.
For several seconds, all I could hear was the rain.
Then Emily spoke.
“Don't believe everything he said.”
I turned toward her.
“What does that mean?”
She stared at the burning cottage.
“It means your father was a master at hiding the truth inside another truth.”
Andrew looked at her.
“You knew about the recording?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know what he would say?”
“Because he told me something similar twenty years ago.”
I felt my head spinning.
“My father told you I wasn't his daughter?”
Emily nodded.
“He said you were.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It doesn't.”
“Then explain it.”
Emily looked at me.
“First, we get away from this fire.”
We ran outside.
The rain was coming down harder now, soaking my clothes within seconds.
Behind us, flames tore through the cottage windows.
The sirens grew louder.
Police cars appeared through the trees.
I looked at Andrew.
He was staring at Emily.
“You're really my sister?”
Emily nodded.
“Half-sister.”
“But if neither of us is Michael's biological child…”
She looked at me.
“Then we have the same mother.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then who was our father?”
Emily looked toward Lorraine.
“That is the question your father spent his entire life trying to bury.”
Lorraine stood several feet away.
She looked exhausted.
“Your mother wasn't who you thought she was.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Stop.”
She shook her head.
“You deserve the truth.”
“I've heard enough truths for one day.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“You've heard lies disguised as truths.”
She looked at Emily.
“Tell her.”
Emily hesitated.
Then she stepped toward me.
“Your mother had a sister.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“A twin.”
I stared at her.
“My mother never had a sister.”
“She did.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
I looked toward Lorraine.
“Why does this matter?”
“Because your mother wasn't the only woman who knew about Richard.”
I felt a headache forming behind my eyes.
Emily continued.
“Your mother and her sister were both involved with Richard.”
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Richard was running an illegal financial network through your father's company.”
I shook my head.
“This is insane.”
“It gets worse.”
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small photograph.
She handed it to me.
Two women stood beside my father.
They looked almost identical.
My mother.
And another woman.
My hands began shaking.
“Who is the other woman?”
“Her name was Clara.”
I looked at the photograph.
My mother was smiling.
Clara wasn't.
She was staring directly at my father.
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“How?”
“No one knows.”
I looked at Emily.
“You do.”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“She was killed.”
My breath caught.
“By whom?”
Emily looked at Lorraine.
“That's what File 17-B was created to prove.”
I turned toward Lorraine.
“You knew.”
She nodded.
“Your father knew Clara was going to expose Richard.”
“And?”
“She disappeared.”
“What did my father do?”
“He covered it up.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because he believed he was protecting your mother.”
“And me?”
“Yes.”
“How could I have been involved? I wasn't born.”
Lorraine looked at me.
“You were.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You were alive when Clara died.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That can't be.”
“You were six months old.”
My mind refused to process it.
“I was born after Clara died.”
“No.”
I looked at Lorraine.
“My birth certificate says…”
“Your birth certificate was changed.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was trying to find you.”
“Who?”
Lorraine whispered:
“Richard.”
I stared at her.
“Why would Richard want me?”
“Because you were evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
Emily stepped forward.
“Your blood.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Richard had a genetic disorder.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Your father needed to know whether you were Richard's daughter.”
My mouth went dry.
“He tested me?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Emily looked away.
“He discovered you were.”
I felt my knees weaken.
“No.”
“Your biological father is Richard.”
I looked at Andrew.
He was standing completely still.
Emily continued.
“And mine too.”
I stared at her.
“That means…”
“Yes.”
Andrew looked at me.
“We're not just sisters.”
Emily corrected him.
“No.”
She looked at both of us.
“We are all Richard's children.”
Silence.
The rain continued falling.
I couldn't breathe.
Andrew stepped backward.
“No.”
Emily nodded.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Our mother.”
Lorraine closed her eyes.
“I had an affair with Richard.”
Andrew looked at her.
“You said Michael was my father.”
“I lied.”
“And her?”
Lorraine nodded toward me.
“Her mother had an affair with Richard too.”
I stared at her.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did my father raise me?”
“Because he believed he could protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“By changing my birth records?”
“Yes.”
“By hiding my sister?”
“Yes.”
“By putting me in a trust?”
“Yes.”
“By lying to everyone?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the burning cottage.
“What was he protecting me from?”
Emily answered.
“Richard.”
“But he's dead.”
Emily shook her head.
“No.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What?”
“Richard is alive.”
Andrew looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw him.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Everyone went silent.
“Where?”
“At the hospital.”
My blood ran cold.
“Which hospital?”
Emily looked directly at me.
“Mercy Children's Hospital.”
I stopped breathing.
The same hospital printed on my childhood photograph.
The same hospital I had supposedly never been born in.
I stepped closer.
“Why were you there?”
Emily pulled another photograph from her pocket.
It showed a hospital corridor.
A man was standing beside a bed.
I recognized him immediately.
My father's lawyer.
But the person lying in the bed was hidden beneath a blanket.
Emily pointed at the figure.
“That's Richard.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“When did he wake up?”
“He didn't.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He's been in a coma for twenty-four years.”
I stared at her.
“Twenty-four years?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you see him three days ago?”
“He woke up.”
The words hit me like another cast-iron pot.
Andrew whispered:
“Why now?”
Emily looked at me.
“Because someone told him you found File 17-B.”
I felt my phone vibrate.
Unknown number.
I looked down.
A text message.
DON'T TRUST EMILY.
Another arrived.
SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE DID.
Then a third.
ASK HER ABOUT THE NIGHT CLARA DIED.
I slowly raised my eyes.
Emily was watching me.
She knew.
“You killed Clara.”
Her expression collapsed.
“No.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You saw what happened.”
“Yes.”
“What aren't you telling me?”
Emily looked toward the police cars.
Then whispered:
“I didn't kill Clara.”
“Then who did?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“You did.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“You were there.”
“No.”
“You were six months old.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
Emily stepped closer.
“Your father changed your birth date because he needed everyone to believe you were born later.”
“Why?”
“Because the police found your fingerprints.”
I stared at her.
“I was a baby.”
“I know.”
“Then how?”
Emily shook her head.
“They weren't fingerprints.”
“Then what?”
“Blood.”
My stomach turned.
“What are you saying?”
“Clara was murdered in the same room where you were found.”
“Where?”
“Mercy Children's Hospital.”
I couldn't breathe.
“The hospital where I was supposedly born.”
“Yes.”
“The hospital where Richard woke up.”
“Yes.”
“The hospital where my father took me.”
“Yes.”
Emily stepped closer.
“And that's why your father changed your birth records.”
I whispered:
“Why would my blood be at a murder scene?”
Emily's eyes filled with tears.
“Because you weren't the victim.”
She paused.
“You were the reason Clara died.”
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
She reached into her pocket and handed me a second key.
A hospital locker key.
Stamped with a number.
B-32.
“What's inside?”
“Your original birth records.”
“And?”
“Your father's last letter.”
I looked at the key.
“Where is the locker?”
Emily answered:
“Mercy Children's Hospital.”
My phone vibrated again.
This time it wasn't an unknown number.
It was my husband's.
I answered.
Andrew's voice came through, shaking.
“Don't go to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“I just received a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
He was silent.
Then he whispered:
“Your father is alive.”
My blood turned cold.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
Andrew's voice cracked.
“He's been waiting for you.”
I looked at Emily.
She had gone pale.
“Waiting where?”
Andrew swallowed.
“In the hospital.”
A pause.
Then:
“And he asked for you by name.”
The call ended.
I looked at the hospital key in my hand.
Then toward Emily.
She whispered one sentence.
“If your father is alive, then everything we've been told about his death is a lie.”
Behind us, the burning cottage collapsed.
May you like
And buried beneath the flames was the one thing my father had spent thirty-two years trying to keep hidden.
The truth about the night I was born.
