Chapter 13: The Daughter Hidden From Us All
“That's impossible.””
I said it so loudly that Tessa, who was standing beside the kitchen counter, nearly dropped her coffee.
Victoria remained silent on the phone.
I stared at the photograph of the birth certificate. Marcus's name appeared beneath the heading Biological Father. Beneath it was Claire's name.
The date of birth was six months before Marcus and Victoria's wedding.
My stomach twisted.
“Victoria, are you absolutely certain?””
“I had the records verified by a lawyer,” she replied.
“The birth certificate is genuine. The court order is genuine. And the hospital confirmed that Marcus was listed as the father.””
“But Claire would have told me.””
“Would she?””
I looked toward the hallway, where Claire had been sleeping since we'd discovered Eleanor.
“Yes,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
“She would.””
“Then ask her.””
Victoria ended the call before I could respond.
For several seconds, I stood motionless, listening to the refrigerator hum.
Marcus had lied about his marriage. He'd concealed his involvement in Richard Whitmore's research program. He'd allowed me to believe he was the man who would protect me, even while helping conceal the truth about my family.
Now there was a child.
A little girl who might have been born into the same web of secrets that had swallowed our lives.
I walked down the hallway and knocked on Claire's door.
“Come in,” she called.
She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, examining the documents we'd collected from the storage facility.
I held out my phone.
“Tell me about Marcus's daughter.””
The color vanished from her face.
She looked at the birth certificate.
Then she lowered her eyes.
“Oh, Nia.””
My chest tightened.
“Is it true?””
Claire pressed both hands against her mouth.
“Yes.””
I sat down heavily.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was ashamed.””
“Of what?””
She began to cry.
“Because I made a terrible mistake, and I didn't want you to think I was just like everyone else in this family.””
I waited.
Claire wiped her cheeks.
“Three years ago, before I knew the truth about my adoption, I met Marcus at a charity event. He told me he was investigating the hospital records because he believed someone had stolen a child from his family.””
“His family?””
“He said his mother had been involved in a guardianship arrangement. He claimed he wanted to make things right.””
I stared at her.
“And you believed him?””
“I was desperate to find my biological family. He seemed to understand what it felt like to live with unanswered questions.””
She looked away.
“We became friends. Then we started seeing each other.””
My throat tightened.
“How long?””
“Four months.””
“And the baby?””
“I found out I was pregnant after we broke up.””
I stared at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because Marcus disappeared.””
She reached for a tissue.
“He said he needed time. He promised he'd come back once he'd resolved some problems with Victoria. Then he stopped answering my calls.””
“Did he know the baby was his?””
“Yes.””
“Then why did the birth certificate have a court order protecting your identity?””
Claire's face hardened.
“Because Marcus's lawyer arranged it. He said it was to protect me from Richard Whitmore.””
“Protect you?””
“He told me Richard wanted access to the child because she might carry the same genetic marker as the other babies.””
I closed my eyes.
Another child.
Another life caught between people who believed secrecy was the same as protection.
“Where is she now?””
Claire swallowed.
“With a temporary guardian.””
“Who?””
She hesitated.
Then she whispered, “Victoria.””
I stood up so quickly that the bed frame creaked.
“Marcus's wife is raising his daughter with you?””
“Not exactly. Victoria arranged the guardianship after Marcus disappeared. She told me the baby would be safer with someone who understood the Whitmore family.””
I stared at her.
“And you agreed?””
“I thought I was protecting her.””
The words felt painfully familiar.
I turned toward the window.
Everyone had made the same excuse.
Richard had protected us by falsifying records. My father had protected me by hiding the truth. Margaret had protected Claire by keeping her away from her biological mother. Marcus had protected himself by lying to two women.
And Claire had protected her daughter by surrendering her to a stranger.
“What is her name?”” I asked.
“Hope.””
The name struck me harder than I expected.
Hope.
A tiny child carrying a name that sounded like a promise nobody had kept.
“Where can I find her?””
Claire picked up her phone.
“Victoria wants to meet us.””
“Then we're going.””
Within an hour, we were standing outside a townhouse in Boston. Victoria opened the door before we knocked.
She looked different from the woman in the photographs. Her dark hair was tied back, and exhaustion had hollowed the skin beneath her eyes.
“You came,” she said.
“I want to see the child.””
Victoria stepped aside.
A little girl sat on the living room rug, building a tower of wooden blocks. She wore yellow pajamas and had dark curls that fell over her forehead.
When she looked up, I saw Marcus's eyes.
She smiled shyly.
“Are you my aunties?””
Claire made a broken sound and covered her mouth.
I knelt beside the girl.
“What's your name, sweetheart?””
“Hope.””
“That's a beautiful name.””
“My mommy says I have to be brave.””
I glanced at Claire.
She was crying openly now.
Hope picked up a wooden block and held it toward me.
“Can you help me build a castle?””
I took the block.
“Of course.””
For ten minutes, we built towers and walls while Victoria watched from the doorway. Hope laughed when the castle collapsed, then clapped her hands when we rebuilt it.
She had no idea that adults had spent years bargaining over her future.
She didn't know that her father had hidden her existence.
She didn't know that her mother had been frightened into believing separation was the only way to keep her safe.
When Hope finally ran upstairs with her toys, I turned toward Victoria.
“Why did you help Claire?””
Victoria folded her arms.
“Because I know what it's like to be denied your identity. I couldn't let another child grow up believing she had been abandoned.””
“Then why didn't you tell me about Marcus's marriage sooner?””
“Because I was trying to get proof. I thought if I confronted him without evidence, he'd disappear again.””
She handed me a folder.
Inside were copies of Marcus's contract with Richard, bank statements, and a photograph of the two men meeting outside a private laboratory.
The final page was a legal agreement transferring ownership of Whitmore Medical Holdings to Marcus.
The condition was clear.
The recipient agrees to maintain the confidentiality of all records relating to the three children identified in the attached research file.
I felt sick.
“He was going to inherit the company in exchange for keeping us silent.””
Victoria nodded.
“And there's something worse.””
She turned the page.
A list of payments appeared beneath the contract.
The most recent transfer was dated three days earlier.
The recipient was Marcus Reed.
“He's still working with Richard,” she said.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I answered and put it on speaker.
“Nia,” he said urgently.
“Where are you?””
“Why?””
“Because Richard has escaped custody.””
Victoria went pale.
Marcus continued.
“He's looking for the children. All three of you. I need you to listen carefully.””
I looked at Claire.
“Go on.””
“There's a file in my office that can prove everything. But Richard knows I have it. He'll come for Hope first.””
Victoria grabbed my arm.
“What file?””
Marcus's voice dropped.
“The original research ledger. It identifies everyone who participated in the transfers.””
I stared at the contract.
“Why should we trust you?””
“Because I know where Richard is going.””
“Where?””
He paused.
Then he said, “To the hospital where Hope was born.””
The call disconnected.
Victoria rushed upstairs.
Claire followed her.
I remained in the living room, staring at the legal agreement.
Marcus had lied about everything.
But if Richard was heading toward Hope, we had no time to waste.
My phone buzzed with a new message.
An unknown number.
Come alone to St. Catherine's at midnight. Bring the original birth certificates. If you want Hope to live, do not tell the police.
Below the message was a photograph.
May you like
Hope stood beside a hospital bed.
And behind her, reflected in the glass, was Richard Whitmore.
