Chapter 3
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood the letter.
I read the sentence again.
Then a third time.
Nothing changed.
Anthony Carter believed he was my biological father.
I looked at Mom.
“Tell me this isn’t real.”
She couldn’t.
“Mom.”
Her lips trembled.
“It’s complicated.”
I slammed the letter onto the bed.
“Stop saying that!”
She flinched.
I immediately hated myself for shouting.
But I couldn’t stop.
“Is Dad my father?”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She closed her eyes.
“Marcus raised you.”
“Is he biologically my father?”
She whispered,
“I don’t know.”
The words tore through me.
I walked toward the bedroom door.
Mom stood.
“Jordan.”
“Don’t.”
“Please.”
I turned around.
“You’ve known my entire life?”
“No.”
“When did you find out?”
“I always knew there was a possibility.”
I laughed, but it sounded broken.
“A possibility?”
“Anthony and I dated before Marcus.”
“So you cheated on Dad?”
“No.”
That answer came quickly.
“Anthony and I broke up. Marcus and I started seeing each other a few weeks later.”
“And then you got pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad know?”
She hesitated.
“Eventually.”
I stared at her.
“So everybody knew except me.”
“No.”
“Anthony knew.”
“He suspected.”
“Dad knew.”
“He knew there was a possibility.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like everybody who mattered.”
Mom covered her mouth.
I turned away.
Suddenly every memory from my childhood felt suspicious.
Dad teaching me to ride a bike.
Dad sitting beside my hospital bed when I broke my arm.
Dad yelling louder than anyone at my football games.
Dad telling me I had his stubbornness.
Had he been pretending?
Had he looked at me every day wondering whether I belonged to another man?
“What happened to Anthony?”
“I told him I was pregnant after Marcus and I got engaged.”
“And?”
“He asked for a paternity test.”
“Why didn’t you do one?”
“Marcus refused.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“He said it didn’t matter.”
I looked at her.
Mom wiped her face.
“He said you were his son no matter what.”
For the first time since finding the letter, I felt something other than anger.
Confusion.
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“He wasn’t always the man you saw tonight.”
She sat down again.
“When you were born, Marcus held you before I did. He cried.”
I looked away.
“Anthony contacted us twice during your first year.”
“What did he want?”
“To know the truth.”
“And Dad?”
“Threatened him.”
That sounded more familiar.
“He told Anthony to stay away from us.”
“Did he?”
“For years.”
I stared at the letter.
“Then why is this in Dad’s truck now?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the part that frightened her.
The letter was old, but the envelope wasn’t.
Dad had apparently been carrying it recently.
“Did Anthony contact him again?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“I heard Marcus say his name on the phone last week.”
I looked at her sharply.
“What did he say?”
“Only pieces.”
Mom took a shaky breath.
“He said, ‘You don’t get to come back now.’ Then he said something about money.”
Of course.
Money.
Everything with Dad eventually came back to money.
“Do you know where Anthony lives?”
“No.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“He moved to Georgia years ago. At least, that’s what I heard.”
I picked up the letter again.
There was no phone number.
Only an old return address in Atlanta.
“You never tried to find him?”
Mom’s expression broke.
“I wanted to protect the family I had.”
“By lying?”
“Yes.”
Her honesty stopped me.
She didn’t defend herself.
She didn’t give me excuses.
“I made choices I thought would protect you,” she said. “Some of them were wrong.”
I looked at her.
“Does Dad hate me because I might not be his?”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because whatever else Marcus became, he loved you.”
I wanted to believe that.
Then I remembered the fake loan.
“He loved me enough to steal my identity.”
Mom had no answer.
I left the room.
I needed air.
I stepped onto the back porch and sat on the wooden steps.
The neighborhood was silent.
A dog barked somewhere down the street.
My phone vibrated.
Dad.
I stared at his name.
It stopped.
Then rang again.
I answered.
“What?”
For a moment, all I heard was breathing.
Then Dad said,
“Your mother tell you?”
My grip tightened.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Is Anthony my father?”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“Anthony is a coward.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He disappeared.”
“Is he my father?”
“You’re my son.”
Again.
Not an answer.
“You stole money in my name.”
Another silence.
“Your mother showed you those papers?”
“Yes.”
“She has no idea what she’s doing.”
“She knows enough to be scared of you.”
His voice changed.
“What happened today should never have happened.”
“You mean you almost hitting her?”
“I lost my temper.”
“Three years is a long temper.”
Silence.
Mom had told me he never touched me.
Maybe that was why I had the courage to keep pushing.
“You’re not coming back tonight.”
“That’s my house.”
“Not tonight.”
“You think you get to decide that?”
“I think Mom does.”
Dad breathed heavily.
Then his tone became strangely calm.
“Listen to me carefully, Jordan.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Your mother is about to make a mistake that could destroy everything.”
“You already did that.”
“No.”
He paused.
“You don’t know half the story.”
“Then tell me.”
“Not on the phone.”
“I’m not meeting you.”
“Then ask Claire where the missing thirty thousand dollars went.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
He sounded almost satisfied.
“Ask her.”
The call ended.
I stood staring at my phone.
Mom appeared behind the screen door.
“Was that him?”
“Yes.”
Her face tightened.
“What did he say?”
I watched her.
Dad was a liar.
A thief.
An abuser.
I knew that now.
But I also remembered the look in Mom’s eyes when I asked what Dad meant earlier.
“Where did the thirty thousand dollars go?”
All the color drained from her face.
That was enough.
“Oh my God.”
“Jordan.”
“He wasn’t lying?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“What do I think?”
She opened the door.
“Come inside.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Tell me here.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I took it.”
My stomach dropped.
“From where?”
“An account your father didn’t know I found.”
“His money?”
“No.”
She looked directly at me.
“It belonged to you.”
I stepped backward.
“What?”
“It was another account in your name.”
For a moment, I thought she was admitting she had stolen from me too.
Then she continued.
“I moved the money before Marcus could take it.”
“Where?”
“A separate account.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
“I don’t have an account.”
“You do now.”
She went upstairs and returned with a folder.
Inside was a statement.
Thirty thousand dollars.
The account had been opened six weeks earlier.
The funds were untouched.
I stared at her.
“You saved it?”
“I was trying to save something.”
My anger loosened slightly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Marcus checks your phone sometimes.”
I looked up sharply.
“What?”
“He checks mine too.”
“How?”
“He knows our passwords.”
I immediately changed mine.
Then Mom’s.
Then our email passwords.
We spent the next hour uploading copies of every document to a new cloud account.
At two in the morning, Aunt Renee called.
Mom had texted her.
She lived forty minutes away.
“I’m coming over,” she said.
When she arrived, she hugged Mom for almost a full minute.
Then she looked at me.
“You finally know.”
“Apparently I’m the last person to know everything.”
Her expression softened.
“Not everything.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Mom shot her sister a warning look.
Too late.
“Aunt Renee.”
Renee sighed.
“There’s one more thing.”
“Of course there is.”
She sat at the table.
“Anthony didn’t disappear because he wanted to.”
Mom whispered,
“Renee.”
“He deserves the truth.”
My heart started pounding again.
“What happened?”
Aunt Renee looked at Mom.
Then at me.
“Marcus paid him to stay away.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
Mom covered her face.
Renee continued.
“Anthony took the money.”
My stomach twisted.
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
I laughed once, bitterly.
“So my possible biological father sold me for twenty thousand dollars.”
“No.”
Mom finally looked up.
“There’s more.”
I stared at her.
She wiped her tears.
“Anthony returned the money.”
“When?”
“Three days later.”
I stopped.
“Then why didn’t he come back?”
Mom looked terrified again.
“Because Marcus threatened to kill him if he ever came near us.”
The room went silent.
Then Aunt Renee reached into her purse.
She pulled out her phone.
“And yesterday,” she said, “Anthony contacted me.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why?”
She turned the screen toward us.
There was a message.
May you like
Only one sentence.
Marcus knows I’m coming back for Jordan.
