Chapter 3: The Name My Mother Couldn't Explain
“Marcus?””
I said the name so quietly that Aunt Denise barely heard me.
My mother heard it.
Her shoulders folded inward, and she gripped the counter as though the floor had begun moving beneath her feet.
Cole's eyes snapped open.
“Darla, don't.””
I turned toward him.
“Who is Marcus?””
He said nothing.
“Cole, who is Marcus?””
Aunt Denise stepped fully into the kitchen and set her plate down.
“Wait,” she said.
“Which Marcus?””
My mother stared at her.
That was when I realized Aunt Denise knew the name, too.
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“Why do you both look like that?”” I asked.
“Who is he?””
Darla wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
“He's someone from my past.””
“Your past?””
“Yes.””
I stared at her burgundy dress, her trembling hands, the expensive gold bracelet I'd given her. She looked like a woman caught in a lie she had spent years preparing to keep.
“Does he have something to do with my baby?””
She didn't answer.
“Mom!””
My daughter kicked hard enough to make me gasp. I pressed both hands against my belly, and Aunt Denise immediately moved toward me.
“Sit down, honey.””
“I'm fine.””
“You're shaking.””
“I'm fine,” I repeated, though my knees had begun to tremble.
Aunt Denise pulled a chair away from the kitchen island.
“Please, Amara. Just sit for a minute.””
I sat because my body had made the decision before my pride could argue.
Cole remained near the pantry entrance. He looked as though he wanted to approach me but had finally realized that every movement made things worse.
Darla stood across from me.
For the first time that afternoon, nobody tried to pretend we were having an ordinary family gathering.
The baby shower music continued in the living room, cheerful and absurdly loud.
“Start talking,” I said.
My mother shook her head.
“I don't know how.””
“Try telling the truth. You could start there.””
She pressed her fingertips against the counter.
“Marcus and I knew each other a long time ago.””
“How long?””
“Before you were born.””
I blinked.
Aunt Denise looked down.
My mother's voice trembled.
“We were young. We made mistakes. Then our lives went in different directions.””
“Was he married to you?””
“No.””
“Were you in love with him?””
Darla's lips parted, but no answer came.
I looked at Aunt Denise.
“You know him, don't you?””
She hesitated.
“Amara, this is something your mother should explain.””
“Why does everybody keep deciding what I should know?””
My aunt's face crumpled.
“You're right.””
She turned to Darla.
“Tell her.””
My mother closed her eyes.
“I haven't seen Marcus in years,” she whispered.
“Not until recently.””
“Recently when?””
“About seven months ago.””
Seven months.
My baby was eight months into my pregnancy.
I stared at her.
“You saw him while I was pregnant?””
“Yes.””
“Did you tell Cole?””
She looked at my husband.
That was enough.
I leaned forward.
“What happened?””
Cole finally spoke.
“Marcus contacted your mother. He told her something that made us question the situation.””
“What situation?””
He rubbed his palms against his trousers.
“Your pregnancy.””
I stared at him.
“My pregnancy?””
“We had questions.””
“About what?””
He swallowed.
“About whether the baby was mine.””
The words struck harder than I expected.
For a moment, the kitchen seemed silent, even though the music still played beyond the doorway.
I looked down at my belly.
My little girl had a name already. Sophie. I had whispered it into the darkness on nights when she kicked so hard I couldn't sleep. I had painted the letters above her crib myself.
Sophie.
My daughter.
The child I had carried through nausea, exhaustion, swollen ankles, and sleepless nights.
And my husband had spent the last several months wondering whether she belonged to him.
I lifted my head.
“Why?””
Cole's jaw tightened.
“Marcus said something.””
“What did he say?””
“He claimed there was a reason we needed to check.””
“What reason?””
“I don't know if everything he told us was true.””
I stared at him.
“You secretly tested my baby because some man said something?””
“It wasn't that simple.””
“Then make it simple!””
My voice echoed through the kitchen.
Aunt Denise moved between us, not quite blocking Cole but making it clear that she wouldn't let him crowd me again.
“Cole,” she said sharply, “you need to answer her.””
He looked at her with open irritation.
“This is between my wife and me.””
“Then you should have remembered that before involving her mother in a secret paternity test.””
His face reddened.
Darla suddenly sank into the chair opposite me.
“I thought I was helping.””
I turned toward her.
“How?””
She clasped her hands together.
“Marcus told me he had information. He said it would change everything if the baby was his.””
My blood ran cold.
“If the baby was his?””
Darla began crying harder.
“I didn't believe him at first.””
“Did you sleep with him?””
The question came out before I could stop it.
My mother stared at me.
“No.””
The answer was immediate.
Almost too immediate.
“Then why would he think my child could be his?””
Darla covered her face.
Cole looked toward the living room.
And suddenly I understood something terrible.
They were not merely afraid that I would discover the affair.
They were afraid I would discover something about my own family.
I looked at Aunt Denise.
“Who is Marcus?””
She swallowed.
“Your mother hasn't told you everything about your father.””
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
“My father died when I was twelve.””
“I know.””
“Then what does Marcus have to do with him?””
Aunt Denise's eyes filled with tears.
Darla shook her head violently.
“Denise, please.””
My aunt ignored her.
“Your father loved you, Amara. Whatever else you hear, remember that.””
I gripped the arms of the chair.
“What else would I hear?””
Nobody answered.
Then my mother's phone, still in my hand, lit up again.
The unknown number had sent another message.
*THE REPORT IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. ASK DARLA WHAT SHE SIGNED SIX MONTHS AGO.*
Beneath the message was a photograph.
It showed a legal document on a desk, with my mother's signature at the bottom.
I enlarged the image.
The heading was partly obscured, but I could make out three words.
*PATERNITY. CONSENT. AFFIDAVIT.*
Below them was a date.
Six months earlier.
My hands began to shake.
“Mom,” I whispered.
“What did you sign?””
Darla looked at the screen.
Her entire expression changed.
Not guilt this time.
Recognition.
She rose so quickly that her chair scraped across the floor.
“Give me the phone.””
I held it tighter.
“No.””
“Amara, please. You don't understand what that document means.””
“Then tell me!””
She reached toward me, but Aunt Denise caught her arm.
“Darla, stop.””
My mother turned on her sister.
“You promised me you'd never bring this up!””
Aunt Denise stared at her in disbelief.
“I didn't send those messages.””
My heart hammered.
I looked from one woman to the other.
“Then who did?””
Before either could answer, a voice came from the kitchen doorway.
“Because I did.””
We all turned.
An older Black man stood just inside the doorway, wearing a charcoal suit and holding a white envelope.
He looked directly at my mother.
Then at Cole.
Finally, his gaze settled on me.
“Hello, Amara,” he said quietly.
“My name is Marcus Reed.””
May you like
He placed the envelope on the counter.
“And I think it's time you learned why your husband was so desperate to test your baby.””
