Chapter 3 - THE SISTER I NEVER KNEW EXISTED.
I
read the note again
Then again.
It still didn't make sense.
“I don't have a sister.”
My father looked at me.
“I thought you didn't.”
“What does that mean?”
He sat down.
“I need to tell you something about your mother.”
I waited.
“When she died, I believed she had left no secrets.”
“She did.”
He nodded.
“Apparently.”
He opened the old photograph from the cabinet.
My mother.
The other woman.
The baby.
I stared at the infant.
Something about the photograph bothered me.
The blanket.
The hospital bracelet.
The date.
I counted backward.
I looked at my father.
“That date is two days before I was born.”
“Yes.”
“So Mom was in the hospital before I was born.”
“Yes.”
“Who was the baby?”
He didn't answer.
I looked at the woman beside my mother.
“Mara?”
He nodded.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
For Eleanor. Protect both girls.
My hands began shaking.
“Both girls.”
My father closed his eyes.
“I think you had a twin.”
I couldn't breathe.
“A twin?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Dad.”
“I swear.”
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
“Then who hid her?”
He looked at the documents.
“The person who created this trust.”
“Grandmother?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the old paperwork.
My grandmother had apparently known I existed.
But why would she separate two babies?
My father found another document.
This one had been sealed for decades.
He opened it.
It was an adoption record.
My heart stopped.
A baby girl had been placed with another family.
The name was different.
But the birth date matched mine.
The mother's name was my mother.
The father's name was blank.
I looked at my father.
“You're not listed.”
He shook his head.
“That isn't possible.”
“Then who was the father?”
He stared at the page.
“I don't know.”
A sound came from the hallway.
We both turned.
The front door opened.
A woman stood there.
She was about thirty years old.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
A familiar expression.
She held a small suitcase.
My heart stopped.
She looked at me.
Then at my father.
And whispered:
“I'm sorry I'm late.”
My father stood.
“Who are you?”
The woman swallowed.
“My name is Sarah.”
She looked at me.
“But that's not my real name.”
I couldn't move.
She reached into her purse.
Pulled out a photograph.
It showed my mother holding two newborn babies.
Two.
Not one.
My breath caught.
Sarah placed the photograph on the table.
“I found out six months ago.”
“About what?”
“That I was adopted.”
My father stared at her.
“Who are your biological parents?”
She looked at him.
“Eleanor and…”
She paused.
Then looked at me.
“Someone named Arthur Hayes.”
My father stepped backward.
I stared at him.
“You're her father.”
He couldn't speak.
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
“I think I'm your sister.”
Nobody moved.
Then she opened her suitcase.
Inside was a box.
She placed it on the table.
“This was given to me by my adoptive mother before she died.”
My father opened it.
Inside was an old letter.
He unfolded it.
His hands began shaking.
The letter was from my grandmother.
He read it silently.
Then looked at me.
“Dad?”
He handed it to me.
I read the first sentence.
Arthur, if you ever discover that one of the girls survived, do not tell Emily until you know who is hunting her.
My heart stopped.
I looked at Sarah.
“Who is hunting me?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she reached into the box and pulled out one final photograph.
It showed Damon.
Standing beside a much older woman.
My father's mother.
My grandmother.
The photograph was dated fifteen years ago.
On the back, someone had written:
THE HUSBAND MUST GET CLOSE TO EMILY BEFORE HER TWENTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY.
I looked at the date.
My twenty-ninth birthday had been the day Damon proposed.
My hands went numb.
My marriage had never been an accident.
Damon had been sent to me.
But the most terrifying part was the name written beneath the photograph.
Not Damon.
Not Lacey.
Not my grandmother.
It was the name of the person who had ordered him to marry me.
Arthur Hayes.
I slowly looked up at my father.
He was staring at the photograph in horror.
“I never wrote that.”
Sarah stepped backward.
“Then someone forged your name.”
My father looked at the old cabinet.
Then at me.
And finally at the photograph.
“Someone wanted you to believe I was behind it.”
I whispered:
“Why?”
Before anyone could answer, my phone rang.
It was Lacey.
I answered.
Her voice was trembling.
“Emily…”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Because I finally found out who Damon was really working for.”
I stood.
“Who?”
There was a long silence.
Then Lacey whispered:
“Your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then you're lying.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“Emily, your mother didn't die the way your father thinks.”
I stopped breathing.
“What are you saying?”
“She disappeared.”
“Where is she?”
Lacey began crying.
Then she whispered the words that changed everything.
“She has been alive for twenty-nine years.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My father had gone completely pale.
And somewhere in the distance, a car engine started.
Someone had been listening.
May you like
And now they knew we had finally discovered the truth.
:::
