Chapter 6: The Daughter Nobody Remembered
I drove straight to my mother's house.
Claire sat in the passenger seat, holding the photograph so tightly that its corners bent beneath her fingers.
Marcus followed in his own car.
Neither of us spoke during the drive.
The city passed in a blur of traffic lights and rain-slicked streets. I kept thinking about the photograph from the bank.
My mother.
A newborn.
A young man who looked like Daniel Whitmore.
And the words written on the back.
She lost two.
When I was little, my father had told me I was born during a snowstorm. He said the hospital generator failed twice, and the nurses wrapped me in three blankets because the heating system stopped working.
I'd always thought it was a funny family story.
Now I wondered whether he'd been trying to tell me something else.
My mother opened the front door before I could knock.
She was still wearing her robe. Her eyes were swollen, and a mug of untouched coffee sat on the entryway table behind her.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Don't mistake that for forgiveness.””
She stepped aside.
Claire entered first.
The moment my mother saw her, she began to cry.
“I am so sorry.””
Claire didn't respond.
I placed the photograph on the dining table.
“Explain this.””
My mother looked down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she sank into a chair.
“Where did you get that?””
“Dad's safe deposit box.””
She closed her eyes.
“Of course.””
I pulled out the notebook and placed it beside the photograph.
“Who is Eleanor Whitmore?””
My mother's face changed.
“Where did you see that name?””
“Answer me.””
She pressed both hands against her mouth.
“Eleanor was Daniel's older sister.””
Marcus stepped forward.
“My father told me she died before I was born.””
“She did die,” my mother whispered.
“But not in the way your family believes.””
I felt a chill move through me.
“What does that mean?””
My mother looked at Claire.
Then at me.
“Eleanor was pregnant when she died.””
Marcus shook his head.
“No. That's impossible.””
“Your father never told you?””
“My father barely spoke about her.””
My mother wiped her cheeks.
“Eleanor was involved in a relationship with a married man. When she became pregnant, the family tried to hide it. Daniel wanted to help her, but your father—”
She stopped abruptly.
“My father what?”” Marcus demanded.
“Robert knew the man Eleanor was involved with.””
I stared at her.
“Dad knew him, too?””
“Yes.””
“Who was he?””
My mother looked at the photograph again.
“That's the part I never understood.””
I slammed my palm onto the table.
“Stop giving us half the story!””
She flinched.
“You're right,” she whispered.
“You're right.””
She rose and walked to a cabinet near the fireplace. From a locked drawer, she removed a small velvet pouch.
Inside was a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
I recognized it immediately.
I'd seen it in the photograph of Eleanor.
My mother placed it on the table.
“Your father gave this to me the night you were born.””
I stared at her.
“Why?””
“He told me to keep it hidden. He said that if anyone ever came looking for the second child, I should give them this pendant.””
Claire picked it up.
“Second child?””
My mother nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“You weren't the only baby born that night.””
The room seemed to stop.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Who was the other baby?””
My mother looked directly at me.
“You.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
“You were the child everyone knew about. The child Robert raised. But there was another baby, Nia. A second girl.””
I shook my head.
“No. Claire was the second baby.””
“No,” my mother whispered.
“Claire was born three hours after you. The other girl was born before dawn.””
Marcus stepped backward.
“That's three children.””
My mother nodded.
“Three daughters. Three different stories. And only one of you was allowed to grow up knowing who she was.””
I couldn't speak.
Claire's hand flew to her mouth.
“Who took the third baby?””
My mother looked toward the window.
“I don't know.””
“Who was the father?”” I demanded.
She closed her eyes.
“Daniel.””
The room fell silent.
I stared at her.
“You had three children with two different men, and nobody told me?””
“I didn't know about the third baby until years later.””
“Years later?””
“After your father died, I found a letter hidden in his desk. It said there had been a complication during your delivery. It said one of the babies had been transferred to another hospital.””
“Which hospital?””
“St. Catherine's.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.””
My mother reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“Don't.””
She let her arm fall.
“I tried to investigate. I called the hospital. I hired a lawyer. Every record had disappeared.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
She looked at Claire.
“Of what would happen if the people responsible discovered I was looking.””
Marcus picked up the notebook and flipped through the pages.
“There's a name here,” he said.
“A doctor who handled the transfer.””
He turned the notebook toward us.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
My mother's face drained of color.
“Samuel.””
I stared at her.
“Why would he take a baby?””
“He didn't take her,” my mother said quickly.
“He was supposed to protect her.””
“From whom?””
She looked toward the hallway.
Before she could answer, a sharp knock sounded at the front door.
Everyone froze.
Marcus moved toward the entrance.
“Stay here,” he said.
He opened the door.
Dr. Whitmore stood on the porch, his suit damp from the rain. He held a leather folder against his chest.
“I need to speak with Nia,” he said.
I walked into the hallway.
“You have some nerve coming here.””
“I know.””
“Then tell me why my mother says there were three babies.””
He looked at Evelyn.
She began to cry.
Dr. Whitmore removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“Because there were three.””
“Where is the third girl?””
He swallowed.
“I don't know where she is now.””
I stepped closer.
“But you knew where she was.””
“Yes.””
“Who raised her?””
He hesitated.
Then he handed me the folder.
Inside was a copy of an adoption certificate dated thirty years earlier.
The child's name had been changed.
The original name had been crossed out.
But the new name was perfectly clear.
*Victoria Whitmore.*
I looked up.
“Your daughter?””
Dr. Whitmore nodded.
“Eleanor's daughter.””
Marcus stared at his uncle.
“You told everyone Eleanor died without a child.””
“She died shortly after giving birth. The baby survived.””
“Then why did you hide her?””
Dr. Whitmore's face crumpled.
“Because the truth would have destroyed three families.””
I felt a cold, terrible anger rise inside me.
“You don't get to decide whose lives deserve the truth.””
“No,” he whispered.
“I know that now.””
I looked at the adoption certificate again.
Victoria Whitmore had been raised by the same family that claimed Eleanor had died.
But the birth date matched the date on the hospital photograph.
And the original mother's name was Eleanor Whitmore.
I looked at my mother.
“Do you know where Victoria is?””
My mother shook her head.
Dr. Whitmore answered for her.
“She lives in Boston.””
Marcus stared at him.
“You know where she lives?””
“I found her six months ago.””
“Then why didn't you tell us?””
“Because she doesn't know who she really is.””
I felt the room tilt again.
“Does she know she was adopted?””
“Yes.””
“Does she know about Eleanor?””
“No.””
“Does she know about me?””
Dr. Whitmore looked at me with exhausted eyes.
“No.””
I took a shaky breath.
“Then we're going to tell her.””
He shook his head.
“You don't understand. Victoria is engaged.””
I stared at him.
“So am I.””
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“She's engaged to a man named Marcus Reed.””
Nobody moved.
Marcus's face went white.
I turned toward him slowly.
He shook his head.
“No.””
Dr. Whitmore opened the folder and removed a photograph.
It showed Victoria standing beside Marcus at a charity gala, her hand resting on his arm.
The date printed on the back was two years earlier.
Before Marcus had ever proposed to me.
I looked at my fiancé.
“Tell me this is fake.””
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
I stared at the photograph again.
Then I noticed the engagement ring on Victoria's finger.
It was identical to the ring Marcus had given me.
The same diamond.
The same setting.
The same tiny flaw in the band.
My hands began to shake.
“Marcus,” I whispered.
“How many women have you promised to marry?””
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
And then he said the one thing that made the entire room go silent.
“Victoria isn't my fiancée, Nia.””
May you like
He took a breath.
“She's my wife.””
