Chapter 4
I returned to the dining room carrying the hospital document.
Denise saw it and immediately stood.
“Where did you find that?”
“In your mother's things.”
Her face crumpled.
For the first time that evening, she looked less like a woman defending herself and more like someone watching a door she had kept locked for decades swing open.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
She looked at the children.
“Please. I need to explain this privately.”
“No more private explanations,” Michael said.
Brandon nodded.
“You've had twenty-seven years of privacy.”
Denise sank into her chair.
I placed the document on the table.
“Who was the other baby?”
She stared at the paper.
“Her name was Olivia.”
“Who was her mother?”
“Patricia. She was my closest friend when I was young.”
I had heard Patricia's name before.
She had died in a car accident many years ago, leaving behind a husband and a daughter.
At least, that was what Denise had told me.
“Why was the baby placed with another family?” Angela asked.
Denise's hands shook.
“Patricia was unmarried. Her family wanted to hide the pregnancy. She was terrified they would take the baby away.”
“So what happened?” Brianna asked.
“Patricia gave birth the same night I did. There were complications. We were both young, and everything happened so quickly.”
I stared at her.
“You gave birth to Angela, and Patricia gave birth to Olivia?”
Denise nodded.
“And Raymond was connected to both pregnancies?”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Michael leaned forward.
“Was Raymond Olivia's father too?”
“I believe so.”
“You believe so?”
“I never saw a DNA test.”
I felt anger rising again.
“You never thought to find out?”
“I tried to find him. He left town after Angela was born.”
“That doesn't explain why you kept this from us.”
Denise began crying.
“Patricia asked me to protect Olivia's identity. She believed her daughter would have a better life if no one knew the circumstances of her birth.”
“And you agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know where Olivia went?”
Denise nodded slowly.
“Her adoptive parents lived in another state. Patricia received letters about her for several years.”
“Where are those letters?”
Denise looked toward the wooden box.
“Somewhere in there.”
Brandon stood and began searching through the documents.
He found a small bundle tied with faded ribbon.
The letters were addressed to Patricia.
Most were from an adoption agency.
One came from a family in North Carolina.
Another contained a school photograph of a little girl with two missing front teeth.
Brianna lifted it carefully.
“She's adorable.”
The little girl had dark curls and bright eyes.
She was holding a certificate from a school science fair.
On the back, someone had written her name.
Olivia Carter.
Angela stared at the photograph.
“Is she still alive?”
Denise nodded.
“I think so.”
I looked at her sharply.
“You think so?”
“The last letter I received was years ago. I wasn't supposed to contact the family. Patricia made me promise.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You seem to have made a lot of promises to people who aren't me.”
Denise lowered her head.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Michael picked up the second laboratory envelope.
“There's another reason I requested this test.”
He looked at me.
“I found an old letter from Raymond. It was addressed to Mom, but it had never been mailed.”
Denise's eyes widened.
“Where?”
“In Grandma's storage box.”
Michael pulled another folded paper from his pocket.
“He wrote that he wanted to know whether Angela was his daughter. He also mentioned Olivia.”
My hands tightened.
“Read it.”
Michael unfolded the letter.
Raymond had written that he regretted abandoning Denise.
He claimed he had learned about the two pregnancies through a mutual friend.
He wanted to know whether he had fathered one child or both.
But the letter ended with a sentence that made the room go silent.
If either girl is mine, I need to know the truth before it is too late.
The letter was dated twenty-two years earlier.
I looked at Denise.
“You received this?”
She nodded.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That you would leave.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't give me the chance to decide whether I wanted to stay.”
Her tears fell onto the table.
Angela sat beside her mother, but she didn't touch her.
“Did Raymond ever contact you again?”
Denise shook her head.
“No.”
“Then how did Dad's name end up on this second test?”
Michael answered before she could.
“I asked the laboratory to compare Dad's DNA with the available family samples. The report was supposed to clarify the relationships among us.”
He looked at the paperwork.
“But it wasn't enough. We needed a proper test involving all four of us.”
I stared at him.
“You collected our DNA?”
“Only mine. I asked everyone else if they wanted to participate, but nobody knew why I was asking.”
Brandon stood.
“You used my toothbrush?”
Michael looked ashamed.
“I shouldn't have done that.”
Brandon's face hardened.
“You think?”
I raised my hand.
“Enough.”
The room quieted.
We were angry, frightened, and exhausted.
But I could see something else beneath the chaos.
A truth that had been buried for decades was finally coming into the light.
And there was no way to put it back.
I looked at my children.
“We are going to find out what happened. All of it. But nobody is going to force anyone into a test or make decisions while we're angry.”
Angela nodded through her tears.
Brianna agreed.
Michael apologized to Brandon.
Then I turned toward Denise.
“You will tell us everything you remember about Raymond, Patricia, and those babies.”
She nodded.
“And if you lie to us again, I will walk out of this house.”
Denise looked at me.
For once, she did not beg me to stay.
She simply whispered, “I understand.”
I wanted to believe her.
But as I gathered the papers, I noticed a final document tucked beneath the hospital bracelet.
It was an adoption record.
The name of the adoptive father had been blacked out.
The name of the adoptive mother had not.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Denise.
Because I recognized that surname.
Carter.
May you like
The same surname as the little girl in the photograph.
And the same surname as the woman who had called our house three months earlier, asking whether Denise was available.
