Chapter 2: The Man Who Was Never Supposed to Exist
For several seconds, the kitchen seemed to tilt around me.
The refrigerator hummed. Water dripped from the counter onto the floor. Somewhere outside, a lawn mower started up, its ordinary buzzing sound clashing with the extraordinary words Daniel had just spoken.
Dead since before I was born.
I looked down at the report.
“Then how can this be a paternity test?”” I asked.
“How can they compare my DNA to someone who's dead?””
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Labs preserve samples.””
“From people who died?””
“Yes.””
“Why would you have a dead man's DNA?””
He said nothing.
I turned toward Denise.
“Mom?””
She wiped her cheeks with the dish towel, but fresh tears immediately followed.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Just give me a minute.””
“You've had seventeen years!””
The words burst out before I could stop them.
Denise flinched.
I regretted hurting her, but the anger inside me had become too large to contain.
“Did you know?”” I demanded.
“Did you know Dad wasn't my biological father?””
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then she sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
That silence was worse than any answer.
Daniel pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. He no longer looked like a man who had just discovered an unfaithful wife. He looked like a man waiting for a sentence to be carried out.
“I want the truth,” I said.
“All of it.””
“You're seventeen,” Daniel replied.
“And you just told me my biological father is dead! I think I'm old enough to hear why.””
He looked at Denise.
She stared at her hands.
Finally, she whispered, “His name was Michael.””
The name meant nothing to me.
“Michael what?””
Denise's shoulders began to shake.
“Michael Reeves.””
Daniel stood so quickly that his chair scraped across the tile.
“Don't.””
Denise looked up at him.
“You don't get to control this anymore.””
“I said don't.””
“And I said no!””
Her sudden fury silenced him.
I had never heard my mother speak to Daniel that way. She usually softened every disagreement, turning sharp words into careful suggestions. Even when he was cruel, she found excuses for him.
Not now.
“Michael Reeves,” I repeated.
“Who was he?””
Denise took a shaky breath.
“He was my brother's best friend. We grew up in the same town. He was kind, funny, and—”
“Stop making him sound like a saint,” Daniel interrupted.
“I wasn't talking to you.””
She turned back to me.
“Michael died in a car accident when I was twenty-two. It happened three months before you were born.””
My knees weakened.
I gripped the back of a chair.
“So he's my father?””
“I don't know,” she whispered.
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.””
Denise slammed her palm against the table.
“Don't you dare.””
“Why? You're the one who brought his name into this.””
“Because she deserves to know!””
“And what about what she deserves to know about you?””
Their argument moved around me like a storm, each sentence revealing another crack in the life I thought I understood.
I held up the report.
“Wait. If Michael died three months before I was born, and this sample was collected on my birthday, why does the report say the father's sample was collected seventeen years ago?””
Daniel's face hardened.
“Because the sample was stored.””
“By whom?””
He didn't answer.
I looked at Denise.
“Did Michael know about me?””
She began to cry harder.
“I never got the chance to tell him.””
The room fell silent.
Then she added, “But he knew I was pregnant.””
I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath my feet.
“What?””
Denise covered her mouth.
Daniel closed his eyes.
That was when I realized the story was much worse than either of them had admitted.
“You said you never got the chance to tell him,” I said.
“But now you're saying he knew?””
“I—”
“Did he know I existed?””
Denise nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
“Did he know I might be his daughter?””
Another nod.
I stepped away from the table.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?””
“Because Michael was dead,” Daniel said.
“Because your mother was pregnant and alone. Because someone had to take responsibility.””
“You mean you?””
“Yes.””
He spoke the word with such force that I almost believed he had done it out of pure love.
Then he ruined it.
“I married your mother. I gave you my name. I paid for your food, your clothes, your school. I gave you everything.””
“And now you're throwing me out because a test says I'm not biologically yours?””
“I'm throwing you out because I don't know what else your mother lied about.””
Denise stood.
“I never lied about loving you!””
Daniel pointed at her.
“You lied about the most important thing in our marriage.””
“You knew I was pregnant when we got married!””
“I didn't know you were carrying his child.””
The words struck the room like a gunshot.
I stared at him.
“What?””
Daniel's expression tightened.
Denise turned away.
I took a step toward him.
“You just said you didn't know.””
He dragged a hand through his hair.
“I thought you were mine.””
“You thought?””
“Your mother told me the dates made it possible.””
Denise shook her head desperately.
“I told you there was a chance.””
“You told me there was no reason to doubt you!””
“I was terrified!””
“And I was a fool!””
Their voices rose, overlapping until I could barely understand them.
I backed toward the hallway.
I wanted to run upstairs, shut my bedroom door, and crawl into the bed where I had slept since childhood. I wanted to wake up and find my father making pancakes, my mother humming in the kitchen, and the DNA report nothing more than a nightmare.
Instead, Daniel pointed toward the staircase.
“Pack a bag.””
Denise spun toward him.
“No.””
“She can stay with your sister until we figure this out.””
“You are not sending her away!””
“Then you can go with her.””
My mother looked at him as though she no longer recognized the man standing in front of her.
Neither did I.
I went upstairs.
My bedroom door clicked shut behind me.
The room smelled of vanilla lotion and the lavender detergent Denise used on my sheets. My school photographs lined the wall. On my desk sat a framed picture of Daniel holding me at the hospital, his face exhausted but smiling.
I picked it up.
He had always told me that photograph was the happiest moment of his life.
Now I wondered whether he had been looking at me or imagining someone else.
My phone vibrated.
It was my best friend, Sophie.
*Sophie:* Happy birthday, birthday girl! Are we still going to the mall?
I stared at the message, unable to form an answer.
A knock sounded on my door.
“It's me,” Denise said.
I set the phone down.
“Come in.””
She entered holding a small cardboard box.
Inside were old photographs, a hospital bracelet, and a sealed envelope that had yellowed at the edges.
“What's that?”” I asked.
“Something I should have given you years ago.””
She sat beside me on the bed.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she handed me the envelope.
My name was written across the front in handwriting I had never seen before.
*For my daughter, if I never get the chance to meet her.*
I looked up sharply.
“Michael wrote this?””
Denise nodded.
“He gave it to me two weeks before the accident.””
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph of a young man standing beside a red pickup truck. He had dark hair, a crooked smile, and eyes that looked startlingly familiar.
On the back, someone had written a date and a sentence.
If she's mine, make sure she knows she was wanted.
I pressed the photograph against my chest.
“Why didn't you give this to me?””
Denise covered her face.
“Daniel made me promise not to.””
I stared at her.
“He made you promise?””
“He said it would destroy our family. He said a dead man couldn't be a father. He said you deserved a stable home, and he would be the only father you ever needed.””
“And you agreed?””
“I was afraid of losing you both.””
I pulled away from her.
“You let me believe my whole life was real.””
“It was real, Maya. Every birthday, every Christmas, every night I held you when you were sick. None of that was a lie.””
“Then why does it feel like everything is?””
She reached for my hand.
I let her touch it, but I didn't hold on.
Before she could speak again, Daniel shouted from downstairs.
“Denise! Get down here!””
She stood reluctantly.
“Stay here,” she said.
I almost laughed.
Everyone kept telling me to stay somewhere while they decided what I was allowed to know.
As she reached the door, I noticed the cardboard box was not empty.
Beneath the photographs lay another document, folded into quarters.
I pulled it out.
It was a copy of an old medical record.
The hospital's name was printed across the top.
The date was October 14, 2009.
My birthday.
Below it was a line that made my stomach tighten.
*NEWBORN PATERNITY DISPUTE — DNA SAMPLE RETAINED BY REQUEST OF ATTENDING PHYSICIAN.*
I read it twice.
Then I noticed the signature at the bottom.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
The same doctor whose name appeared on the laboratory report.
The same doctor who had delivered me.
And beside his signature was a handwritten note.
Do not release either sample without authorization from Daniel Carter.
I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Quick. Heavy.
Daniel appeared in my doorway.
His eyes dropped to the medical record in my hands.
For one second, his face became completely blank.
Then he said, “Where did you get that?””
I stood.
“Why did you order a DNA test on my seventeenth birthday?””
He didn't answer.
I held up the document.
“And why did the hospital keep my DNA sample under your authorization?””
May you like
Daniel stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Because,” he said quietly, “your mother isn't the only person in this family who has been lying.””
