Chapter 9: The Truth Pascal Was Forced To Hide
The video ended.
But my father’s voice remained.
*The man you married is not who you think he is.*
I stared at the black screen.
Waiting.
Hoping it would turn back on.
Hoping someone would explain that this was another lie.
Another manipulation.
But the screen stayed dark.
And Pascal stayed silent.
That silence hurt more than the message.
Because I already knew.
He knew something.
“Tell me.””
My voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
Pascal looked at me.
“Alexa…”
“No.””
I shook my head.
“Not another excuse.””
His face tightened.
“I’m not making excuses.””
“Then tell me.””
He looked down.
And for the first time since I met him, Pascal looked afraid of me.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Afraid.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this.””
My stomach twisted.
“Find out what?””
He didn’t answer.
“Pascal.””
A long breath escaped him.
Then he said:
“I’m not Noah’s father.””
The words landed harder than I expected.
Not because I believed him.
Because I didn’t understand why they mattered.
“I know.””
His eyes lifted.
“You know?””
“Yes.””
I stepped closer.
“You’re not his biological father.””
The confusion on his face was immediate.
“That’s not what I mean.””
I froze.
“What?””
Pascal sat down.
“I’m not talking about biology.””
My heartbeat changed.
“Then what are you talking about?””
He looked at the floor.
“I’m talking about why your father thought I was connected to Noah.””
The room felt colder.
“Explain.””
He rubbed his hands together.
A nervous habit I had never seen before.
“Before I met you, your father hired me.””
“I know.””
“No, you know part of it.””
He looked at me.
“You think he hired me to investigate Ethan.””
“Didn’t he?””
“Yes.””
“Then what else?””
Pascal swallowed.
“He hired me because he believed Ethan was hiding something about Noah.””
I frowned.
“Again with Noah.””
“Yes.””
“Why was everyone obsessed with my child?””
His expression broke.
“Because Noah was the only person who could expose your father.””
I felt a chill.
“Expose him for what?””
Pascal looked toward the window.
“For what he did to your family.””
I shook my head.
“My father was controlling. Cruel. But…”
I stopped.
Because even saying it sounded wrong.
“But what?””
Pascal asked.
I looked away.
“But he was still my father.””
“I know.””
“Did he hurt my mother?””
Pascal didn’t answer immediately.
And that was enough.
“Pascal.””
He closed his eyes.
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“I know what the evidence suggests.””
“What evidence?””
He stood and walked to a cabinet.
From inside, he pulled out a small box.
My chest tightened.
“What is that?””
“Everything I found.””
He placed it on the table.
“Your father’s records. Hospital documents. Messages.””
I stared at the box.
“You had this the entire time?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because I was waiting.””
“For what?””
“For a way to protect you.””
I laughed.
A painful laugh.
“You keep saying that.””
“I know.””
“No, you don’t.””
My voice cracked.
“You don’t understand what it feels like to find out the person who promised to protect you was also hiding the knife.””
Pascal looked like I had hit him.
Maybe I had.
He opened the box.
Inside were dozens of papers.
Photographs.
Old records.
One photograph caught my attention.
A young Pascal.
Standing beside my father.
My hand reached for it.
“You knew him before.””
“Yes.””
“How old were you?””
“Twenty-four.””
“And my father?””
“Forty.””
I looked at the picture.
“You were just a kid.””
Pascal nodded.
“He saved me.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“My father was arrested when I was young. We lost everything.””
He looked at the photograph.
“Your father gave me a job. A second chance.””
I understood then.
The connection.
The loyalty.
The reason Pascal couldn’t simply walk away.
“He owned you.””
Pascal didn’t argue.
“Yes.””
The word was quiet.
“And when he asked you to investigate Ethan…”
“I agreed.””
“Why?””
“Because I thought I was helping him protect you.””
“And then?””
Pascal looked at me.
“Then I met you.””
Silence.
“I realized he wasn’t protecting you.””
My throat tightened.
“He was controlling you.””
Pascal nodded.
“He wanted to decide every part of your life.””
I looked at the documents.
“What did you find?””
Pascal pulled out a folder.
“The first thing was that your father changed Noah’s records.””
I nodded.
“Already know.””
“The second thing was worse.””
“What?””
He handed me a document.
I read it.
Then read it again.
A hospital authorization form.
A signature.
*Thomas Morgan.*
A request for medical access.
Date:
The day Noah was born.
My eyes narrowed.
“Why did my father have medical authority?””
“He shouldn’t have.””
“Then why did he?””
“Because your mother signed something before she died.””
I froze.
“My mother?””
Pascal nodded.
“She left instructions.””
“For what?””
He handed me another page.
The handwriting was different.
Older.
Careful.
A letter.
My mother’s letter.
I read the first line.
*If something happens to me, protect my daughter and my grandson.*
My breath caught.
I kept reading.
*Thomas cannot know the truth. He will try to take control.*
My fingers shook.
My mother knew.
She knew.
A sound escaped my throat.
“No.””
Pascal watched me.
“She knew your father was dangerous.””
“Then why didn’t she tell me?””
“Because you were young.””
“That’s not an answer.””
“No.””
He looked away.
“But it’s the truth.””
I read the final lines.
*The child Alexa carries is not just a child. He is the last piece of evidence.*
I stopped.
Evidence.
Again.
“What evidence?””
Pascal took a breath.
“Your mother discovered something about your father.””
“What?””
“That he was involved in illegal adoption arrangements.””
The room went silent.
I looked up.
“What?””
“He wasn’t trying to take Noah because he loved him.””
Pascal’s voice became heavier.
“He was trying to use Noah to prove something.””
“What?””
Pascal opened another file.
A DNA report.
Not Ethan.
Not Noah.
Something else.
I looked at the name.
Then my hands went cold.
*Thomas Morgan.*
“What is this?””
“Your father’s DNA comparison.””
“With who?””
Pascal hesitated.
Then said:
“With Noah.””
I stared.
“Why?””
“Because your father suspected Noah was related to him.””
“That makes no sense.””
“It does.””
He looked at me.
“Because Noah is.””
The room spun.
“No.””
“Alexa…”
“No.””
I backed away.
“My father is not Noah’s father.””
“I know.””
“Then what are you saying?””
Pascal’s eyes filled with pain.
“I’m saying your father is Noah’s grandfather.””
I stared.
“That’s impossible.””
“Yes.””
“Then why the test?””
“Because Thomas believed something about your family history.””
“What?””
Pascal looked at the final page.
Then whispered:
“Your mother wasn’t your biological mother.””
The words destroyed the last piece of certainty I had.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t speak.
Everything.
My childhood.
My memories.
My family.
All of it.
A lie.
Then Pascal’s phone rang.
He answered.
A voice came through.
My father.
“Did you tell her?””
Pascal looked at me.
“Yes.””
A pause.
Then my father laughed.
“Good.””
My blood froze.
“Where is my son?””
My father ignored me.
“You see, Alexa?””
His voice was calm.
“You spent your entire life searching for the truth.””
I clenched my fists.
“Bring Noah home.””
“You still don’t understand.””
“Understand what?””
The silence was long.
Then he said:
“Noah was never the secret.””
My heart stopped.
“Then what was?””
My father answered:
“You were.””
The call ended.
And seconds later, a message appeared.
An address.
May you like
And one sentence.
*Come alone if you want to know who you really are.*
