Chapter 8: My Mother Had Been Keeping Another Child

I didn't pick up the phone immediately.

It lay on the kitchen floor, Daniel's voice still coming through the speaker.

“Marcus? Are you there?””

I stared at Nia.

“My mother?””

She nodded slowly.

I bent down and picked up the phone.

“Daniel, explain.””

“My records show that your mother, Evelyn Carter, became the child's legal guardian shortly after the birth.””

I felt my throat tighten.

“My mother never mentioned another baby.””

“I don't know what she knew at the time.””

“Where is the child?””

Daniel hesitated.

“Marcus, I think you should speak with Evelyn directly.””

I ended the call.

Then I called my mother.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello, sweetheart.””

“Mom, did you know about a third baby born at St. Mary's ten years ago?””

Silence.

I heard a television playing in the background.

Then my mother's voice changed.

“Who told you?””

I closed my eyes.

“Is that a yes?””

She sighed.

“Marcus, I was hoping this day would never come.””

My stomach dropped.

“You knew?””

“Yes.””

“About the third baby?””

“Yes.””

“And you became the child's guardian?””

Another pause.

“Yes.””

I gripped the counter.

“Why?””

My mother began crying.

“Because someone had to protect that child.””

“From whom?””

“From what happened at the hospital.””

I looked at Nia.

She was shaking her head.

“Mom, I'm coming over.””

“Don't bring the children.””

“I'm not asking permission.””

I ended the call.

Within twenty minutes, I was driving across town.

Nia stayed home with Maya and Ethan.

I didn't trust myself to have that conversation with all three children listening.

My mother lived in a small white house with a red front door. I had grown up there.

The same front porch where she used to take photographs of me before school.

The same kitchen where she baked birthday cakes.

The same living room where she had rocked Ethan when he was a baby.

I knocked.

She opened the door immediately.

She was wearing her usual blue cardigan.

But her eyes were swollen.

“Come in.””

I walked past her.

“Where is the child?””

She closed the door.

“His name is Noah.””

I turned.

“His?””

She nodded.

“He's a boy.””

“Where is he?””

“Upstairs.””

I stared at her.

“You've been raising another child?””

“No. I became his legal guardian. He's lived with a foster family for most of his life.””

I felt my jaw tighten.

“Why would you do that?””

My mother sat down.

“Because Rebecca asked me to.””

I froze.

“Nia's sister?””

She nodded.

“She was brought to the hospital that night. She was frightened and alone. She had been estranged from Nia for years, but she contacted me shortly before the birth.””

“Why?””

My mother wiped her eyes.

“She wanted to make sure her baby would be safe.””

I sat opposite her.

“Why didn't she tell anyone?””

“She was afraid.””

“Of what?””

My mother hesitated.

Then she said, “She had been involved with a married man.””

I stared at her.

“What?””

“She didn't want the father to find out about the baby.””

I rubbed my forehead.

“Who was the father?””

My mother looked directly at me.

“I don't know.””

“Did Rebecca tell you?””

“No.””

“Then why are you involved?””

She reached for a framed photograph on the side table.

It showed a young woman holding a newborn.

I recognized her from an old photograph Nia had once shown me.

Rebecca.

She had the same dark eyes as Nia.

My mother placed the picture in front of me.

“She made me promise that if anything happened to her, I would make sure the baby had a safe home.””

I stared at the photograph.

“What happened to her?””

“She developed complications after the delivery. Her condition deteriorated quickly.””

“Why didn't Nia tell me?””

My mother looked away.

“Because she blamed herself.””

“For what?””

“Rebecca had called her that night. They argued. Nia refused to come to the hospital.””

I felt my chest tighten.

My wife had hidden an entire sister.

An entire baby.

And now I was discovering that my mother had been involved in the same secret.

“Why did you never tell me?””

My mother reached for my hand.

“Because I promised.””

“You promised someone who died, and you lied to your own son for ten years?””

She began crying.

“I thought I was protecting everyone.””

I stood.

“Where is Noah now?””

“He's with his foster family. But he visits me every Saturday.””

I looked at her.

“You see him every week?””

“Yes.””

“What does he call you?””

“Grandma.””

I stared at her.

The room suddenly felt unfamiliar.

I walked toward the staircase.

“Marcus, wait.””

I stopped.

“There's something else.””

I turned.

My mother picked up a folder from beneath the coffee table.

“Rebecca left a letter.””

She handed it to me.

The envelope was yellowed with age.

My name was written across the front.

*For Marcus Carter.*

I looked at her.

“Why would Rebecca write to me?””

My mother shook her head.

“I don't know.””

I opened it.

The handwriting was shaky.

Marcus, if you're reading this, then the hospital has finally uncovered what happened that night.

I read the next line.

I know you have loved two children as your own. Please don't let anyone convince you that blood is more important than the people who stay.

My hands began trembling.

Then I reached the final paragraph.

But there is one thing you must know about Noah. He is not Daniel Reed's son. And he is not the child the hospital believes him to be.

I looked up.

“What?””

My mother began crying again.

Before she could explain, footsteps sounded upstairs.

A small boy appeared at the top of the staircase.

He was about nine years old, with dark curly hair and a faded dinosaur shirt.

He looked directly at me.

“Grandma?””

My mother wiped her cheeks.

“It's okay, sweetheart. This is Marcus.””

The boy slowly walked down the stairs.

He stopped in front of me.

Then he tilted his head.

“You look like the man in my picture.””

I frowned.

“What picture?””

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded photograph.

It showed Rebecca standing beside a man.

I recognized the man immediately.

He was younger, but unmistakable.

It was my father.

The father whose funeral had taken place eleven months before Nia's pregnancy.

I stared at the photograph.

“Noah,” I whispered, “where did you get this?””

He pointed toward my mother.

“Grandma said he was my grandfather.””

My legs nearly gave way.

My mother covered her face.

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