Chapter 4
Marcus didn't say a word until we were three streets away.
I sat in the passenger seat with the photograph in my hands.
My father had a face.
A smile.
A name I had barely been allowed to speak.
And somewhere in the world, I had a brother named Isaiah.
"Pull over," I whispered.
Marcus glanced at me.
"Maya?"
"Please."
He parked outside a closed bakery.
The moment the car stopped, I began shaking.
"I had a brother."
Marcus turned toward me.
"I know."
"No, you don't understand."
My voice broke.
"I spent my whole childhood wishing I had someone who looked like me. Someone who remembered my father."
He reached across the console.
I held his hand.
"And he was there."
We sat together while I cried.
Eventually, Marcus handed me a tissue.
"I'm going to help you find them."
I looked at him.
"Even my biological father?"
"Especially him."
"Doesn't that hurt?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"Helping me find another dad."
He took a slow breath.
"Maya, love isn't a chair. Someone else sitting beside you doesn't mean I have to stand."
I started crying again.
He smiled.
"You can love your biological father and still love me."
"But what if he wants to be my dad?"
"Then I hope he does a better job than he was allowed to do before."
I squeezed his hand.
"I still want the adoption."
His eyes softened.
"So do I."
That night, Marcus took me to his apartment.
It was small, with a kitchen that opened into the living room.
There were photographs of me everywhere.
My first school play.
My middle-school graduation.
The day I won a regional science competition.
One picture showed me asleep on his shoulder during a football game.
I stood in front of it.
"You kept all these?"
"Of course."
"Even after the divorce?"
He looked confused.
"Why would the divorce change that?"
I suddenly remembered something my mother had told me.
When Marcus moved out, she said he had abandoned us both.
She claimed he didn't want responsibility for another man's child anymore.
Yet he had called me every evening.
He had sent birthday gifts.
He had waited outside my school whenever she refused to let him see me.
He hadn't disappeared.
She had pushed him away.
I spent the next hour searching for Daniel Carter.
I started with the return address on the letters.
An apartment in Savannah, Georgia.
The online listing was old.
The address had changed owners twice.
Then I searched for his name with the city.
Nothing useful appeared.
I tried the name Isaiah Carter.
There were too many results.
Marcus made me tea.
At eleven, I found something.
A photograph on the website of a community youth center.
Three basketball players stood beside their coach.
One boy looked remarkably like the child in my father's photograph, only older.
Beneath the picture was a caption.
ISAIAH CARTER, VOLUNTEER MENTOR.
I clicked his name.
There was a public contact email for volunteers.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
What could I possibly say?
Hello, I'm your sister.
Our mother kept us apart.
I didn't even know you existed until today.
Marcus sat beside me.
"Want me to help?"
I nodded.
Together, we wrote a short message.
My name is Maya Carter. I believe Daniel Carter may be my biological father. I recently discovered a letter mentioning his son, Isaiah. If this message has reached the right person, I would be grateful for a chance to speak.
I read it five times.
Then I sent it.
For several minutes, nothing happened.
I tried to convince myself that he might not see it for days.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
Marcus looked at me.
"Answer."
I pressed the button.
"Hello?"
A young man's voice answered.
"Is this Maya?"
My throat closed.
"Yes."
There was a sharp breath on the other end.
"Oh my God."
I couldn't move.
"Isaiah?"
"Yeah."
His voice cracked.
"Is it really you?"
I started crying.
"I think so."
He laughed softly, but he was crying too.
"I've been looking for you."
"For how long?"
"Years."
I covered my mouth.
"Years?"
"Maya, Dad never stopped talking about you."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Dad.
The word sounded strange coming from someone who meant Daniel.
"Where is he?"
Silence.
My heart began pounding.
"Isaiah?"
He swallowed.
"He's alive."
Relief flooded through me.
"But he's not doing well."
"What happened?"
"He had a stroke last year. He's recovering, but some days are harder than others."
I looked at Marcus.
He immediately took my free hand.
"Does he remember me?" I whispered.
Isaiah made a sound like a sob.
"He keeps your baby picture beside his bed."
I bent forward.
"He remembers me?"
"Every day."
I cried so hard I couldn't speak.
Isaiah waited patiently.
Finally, I asked, "Why didn't he come?"
"He tried."
"What do you mean?"
"Your mom moved. She changed numbers. She told him you were afraid of him."
I shook my head.
"I wasn't."
"He eventually hired an attorney."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
Isaiah paused.
"That's something Dad should explain himself."
"Please."
"Maya, I don't want to overwhelm you."
"I've spent fourteen years believing he abandoned me."
He sighed.
"Your mom threatened to accuse him of hurting you if he kept trying to contact you."
The room seemed to tilt.
I whispered, "What?"
"She said she'd make sure he never saw you again, even through the courts."
Marcus's grip tightened.
Isaiah continued.
"Dad was terrified that fighting her would make things worse for you."
I couldn't understand how my mother could do something so cruel.
Then Isaiah said something even worse.
"There's something else."
I held my breath.
"Your father sent money for you. Every month. For years."
I stared at the wall.
"What money?"
"Child support. Extra money for school. A college fund."
My mouth went dry.
My mother had told me Daniel never paid a penny.
She used that story whenever I needed new clothes.
Whenever our electricity bill was late.
Whenever Marcus worked overtime.
I whispered, "I never received any college fund."
Isaiah went quiet.
Then he asked a question that made my stomach drop.
"Maya, did your mother tell you the account was empty?"
I closed my eyes.
"She told me there had never been one."
On the other end of the line, my brother swore under his breath.
Then he said, "I think you need to come to Savannah."
I looked at Marcus.
He nodded.
"Whenever you're ready."
I turned back to the phone.
"I want to meet you."
Isaiah started crying again.
"We've waited fourteen years for that."
Then his voice grew serious.
"But Maya, before you come, there's something you should know."
I gripped the phone.
"What?"
"Your mom contacted Dad last month."
I froze.
"Why?"
"She demanded money."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
May you like
Isaiah's next words were barely a whisper.
"She told him she'd make sure you never found out he was alive unless he paid her fifty thousand dollars."
