Chapter 3
The DNA result arrived at 9:14 the next morning.
Nobody had slept.
Marcus and I had exchanged exactly one text.
Are you okay?
Neither of us answered honestly.
No.
At 9:12, Dad's phone rang.
He put it on speaker.
The laboratory coordinator confirmed our identities.
Then asked whether we were prepared to receive the result verbally.
My stomach twisted.
“Yes,” Dad said.
Marcus stood across from me in our living room.
Michael and Rachel were beside him.
Mom sat near me.
The coordinator spoke slowly.
“The tested individuals show a probability of paternity of 99.998 percent.”
I stopped breathing.
Dad closed his eyes.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Marcus didn't move.
The woman continued talking about genetic markers.
I heard nothing else.
Ninety-nine point nine nine eight.
Marcus was my father's son.
My half brother.
My boyfriend was my brother.
Mom wrapped her arm around me.
I pushed away and ran.
“Emily!”
I made it to the downstairs bathroom before vomiting.
Mom followed.
She held my hair while I shook over the toilet.
“I kissed him.”
“I know.”
“I loved him.”
“I know.”
“I still—”
I couldn't finish.
Mom knelt beside me.
“You didn't know.”
“It feels disgusting.”
“You are not disgusting.”
“But—”
“No.”
Her voice became fierce.
“You did not choose this with knowledge.”
I looked at her through tears.
“How am I supposed to look at him now?”
“One day at a time.”
“I can't.”
“Then don't today.”
I cried until my chest hurt.
When I finally returned to the living room, Marcus was gone.
Michael had taken him outside.
Rachel sat crying at the table.
Dad stood alone by the window.
I hated him in that moment.
Maybe unfairly.
But I did.
“This is your fault.”
Dad turned.
Laura whispered, “Emily.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“If you hadn't cheated—”
“I know.”
“If you'd asked what happened to Rachel—”
“I know.”
“If you'd told Mom the truth—”
“I know.”
His eyes filled.
“Stop saying you know!”
I screamed it.
“You don't know what this feels like!”
Dad flinched as if I had hit him.
I kept going.
“You get a son.”
His face broke.
“Emily—”
“You get this big shocking secret son.”
I pointed toward the door.
“And I lose the person I thought I loved.”
Dad started crying.
I had seen my father cry only twice before.
At his mother's funeral.
And when our dog died.
I didn't care.
Not then.
“I am sorry.”
“Sorry doesn't fix it.”
“No.”
“Then don't ask me to forgive you.”
“I won't.”
That stopped me.
Dad wiped his face.
“I won't ask you for anything.”
His voice shook.
“You can hate me as long as you need.”
Mom looked at him.
Pain passed between them too.
This revelation had destroyed more than one relationship.
Rachel stood.
“I need to go.”
I turned toward her.
Anger shifted.
“You.”
She froze.
“You knew Marcus might be Dad's son.”
“Yes.”
“And you waited seventeen years.”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“If you'd told him when Marcus was little, this never would've happened.”
“I know.”
“Why should I forgive you either?”
“You shouldn't have to.”
That answer made me cry harder.
Everyone was suddenly accepting blame, now that blame couldn't change anything.
Rachel left.
Mom followed her outside.
Dad stayed.
I went upstairs.
At noon, there was a knock at my bedroom door.
“Emily?”
Marcus.
My entire body froze.
He stood on the other side.
“I won't come in.”
I couldn't answer.
“I just need to say something.”
I sat on the floor beside my bed.
Tears started again.
His voice came through the door.
“I deleted our pictures.”
My chest hurt.
“The couple ones.”
I covered my mouth.
“I didn't delete every picture of you.”
He paused.
“I don't want to pretend the last seven months didn't exist.”
I cried silently.
“But I don't know how to remember them yet.”
Neither did I.
“I keep feeling sick.”
His voice cracked.
“I know we didn't know, but my brain knows now.”
I pressed my forehead against the door.
“Mine too.”
Silence.
It was the first thing I had said to him since the result.
He breathed out.
“Okay.”
“Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Don't.”
“I feel like—”
“We didn't do this.”
His voice strengthened.
“They did.”
I knew what he meant.
The adults.
Their secrets.
Their fear.
Their decisions to postpone truth.
“But they're still our parents.”
“I know.”
That was the problem.
We loved people we were furious with.
Marcus continued.
“Michael is my dad.”
“Yes.”
“I need you to know that.”
“I do.”
“David…”
He struggled to say Dad's name differently now.
“He's my biological father.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“I don't know what he's supposed to be after that.”
“You don't have to know today.”
Marcus gave a sad laugh.
“That's what Michael said.”
“He's smart.”
“He'd like hearing that.”
I almost smiled.
Then guilt hit me for smiling.
Marcus seemed to understand the silence.
“I'll go.”
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“Prom.”
“What about it?”
“We missed it.”
“I noticed.”
A small laugh escaped both of us.
Then I started crying again.
Marcus whispered, “Emily.”
“We spent months planning.”
“I know.”
“My dress is downstairs.”
“I know.”
“It feels stupid to care.”
“It isn't.”
His voice became gentle.
“We lost something.”
That sentence allowed me to understand.
Not just a relationship.
A version of ourselves.
A future we had imagined.
It had vanished overnight.
We were allowed to grieve it even though we now knew it could never happen.
Marcus said, “Maybe someday we can laugh about the worst prom night in human history.”
“I don't think we're there.”
“No.”
“Not close.”
“Definitely not.”
He walked away.
I remained by the door.
An hour later, Mom came inside.
Her eyes were swollen.
“Your father moved into the guest room.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because I asked him to.”
A new fear appeared.
“Are you getting divorced?”
“I don't know.”
That shocked me more than expected.
“You and Dad never—”
“I know.”
She sat beside me.
“Your father cheated on Rachel with me without telling me Rachel existed.”
“But it was eighteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Before you were married.”
“Yes.”
“Then why does it matter now?”
Mom looked at me sadly.
“Because the event is old.”
She touched her chest.
“But the truth is new.”
I understood that too well.
She continued.
“I built my marriage believing your father met me when he was single.”
“He's been faithful since.”
“I believe that.”
“So…”
“So I'm not punishing him for an old kiss.”
Her voice shook.
“I'm grieving the fact that he decided what truth I deserved.”
The same mistake Rachel made.
The same mistake everyone made.
They called silence protection.
Then expected the protected person to be grateful.
That evening, Michael came to speak with Dad privately.
They argued.
Loudly.
I heard Michael shout from downstairs.
“You don't get to arrive seventeen years late and call yourself his father!”
Dad answered something I couldn't hear.
Then Michael said:
“He spent last night asking whether his whole identity is a lie!”
I walked downstairs.
Both men stopped.
“Don't fight over him.”
Michael looked ashamed.
Dad stepped back.
I continued.
“He isn't property.”
They both nodded.
Marcus appeared in the doorway behind Michael.
“Emily's right.”
He looked at Dad.
“I want to ask you something.”
Dad's face softened.
“Anything.”
“Did you ever want kids before Emily?”
Dad looked confused.
“Yes.”
“With Rachel?”
Silence.
Rachel had entered behind them.
Dad looked at her.
Then Marcus.
“Yes.”
Marcus's face crumpled.
That answer mattered more than I expected.
He whispered, “So if you'd known…”
Dad's voice broke.
“I would have come.”
Rachel started crying.
Michael closed his eyes.
Marcus nodded.
Not happy.
Not healed.
But something inside him seemed to settle.
Then he asked Rachel the question none of us expected.
“Why did you really tell David you were moving to Chicago?”
Rachel stared.
“What?”
“You lied to him.”
Her face changed.
Marcus noticed too.
“Why?”
Rachel looked toward Michael.
Then Dad.
“Because someone asked me to.”
My skin prickled.
Dad frowned.
“Who?”
Rachel swallowed.
“Your mother.”
My grandmother had been dead for six years.
Dad went completely still.
“What did you say?”
May you like
Rachel whispered:
“Your mother knew I was pregnant.”
