The Groom Wasn't Marrying Me for Love—He Was Marrying Me for My Father's Fortune

“Catherine, listen to me carefully. Don't let anyone into your room.””

I could hear her crying through the phone.

“He says he's Richard Carter.””

“That isn't possible.””

“He knows things about Mom. He knows things about you and Grace. He even knows the name of the dog you had when you were little.””

My stomach tightened.

Our childhood dog had been named Charlie.

My father had given him to me when I was six.

Only family members knew that story.

“Catherine, is he still there?””

“No. He left a few minutes ago. But he said he'd come back.””

I looked at Samuel.

He had already grabbed his car keys.

“Stay where you are,” I told Catherine.

“We're coming.””

I ended the call.

Grace stood beside me, trembling.

“Did she say Dad?””

I nodded.

“Someone claiming to be him.””

Grace shook her head.

“That's impossible. Mom showed me his death certificate. She told me he died before I was born.””

I looked at her.

“Your mother lied about almost everything.””

Samuel opened the apartment door.

“We need to move. If Thomas knows Catherine has contacted you, he may already be on his way back.””

The drive to the medical center took twenty minutes.

Nobody spoke.

I kept staring at the photograph of my father, wondering whether the man I had buried three years earlier had really died.

When we arrived, Catherine's hospital room was on the third floor.

A nurse stood outside.

“Are you family?””

“Yes,” I answered.

She glanced at our faces.

“She's been asking for you.””

I pushed the door open.

A young woman sat upright in the hospital bed.

She had dark hair, my mother's eyes, and a small birthmark beneath her left ear.

I stopped.

For the second time in two days, I was looking at someone who seemed to belong to my face.

Catherine stared at me.

“Nia?””

I nodded.

She looked at Grace.

“And you're Grace?””

Grace began crying.

“Yes.””

Catherine covered her mouth.

“Oh my God.””

Neither of us knew what to say.

Then Catherine opened her arms.

Grace reached her first.

I followed.

Three sisters embraced in a hospital room, trying to make up for twenty-eight years of separation in a single moment.

When we finally stepped apart, Catherine wiped her cheeks.

“I've imagined this so many times.””

I held her hand.

“I'm sorry it took us so long.””

She shook her head.

“You didn't know.””

I looked at the medical monitor beside her bed.

“Are you hurt?””

“Nothing serious. I fainted at work. The doctor thinks it was exhaustion.””

“Did Thomas come here?””

Catherine nodded.

“He introduced himself as my biological father.””

Grace frowned.

“Did he show you proof?””

“He showed me photographs. He knew my birth date. He knew the name of the hospital where I was born.””

Samuel stepped forward.

“Did he give you anything?””

Catherine reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a white envelope.

“He left this.””

I recognized the handwriting.

My father's.

My hands began trembling.

I opened it.

Inside was a letter.

My dearest daughters,

If all three of you are reading this together, then the people who tried to keep you apart have finally failed.

I owe you more apologies than I could ever fit into these pages.

I did not lose you because I stopped loving you. I lost you because I made decisions I believed would keep you alive.

But there is one truth I need you to understand.

Your mother did not abandon Catherine.

She made a sacrifice that I have spent my life trying to understand.

I looked up.

“Where did this come from?””

Catherine shook her head.

“He said he found it in an old safe.””

Samuel took the letter.

“This is Richard's handwriting.””

I looked at him.

“Then where is he?””

Samuel didn't answer.

A knock sounded at the door.

We all turned.

A man stood in the doorway.

He was wearing a dark gray coat. His hair was almost completely white, and he leaned slightly on a wooden cane.

My heart stopped.

I knew that face.

The lines around his eyes.

The shape of his mouth.

The small scar near his left temple.

“Dad?””

The word escaped before I could stop it.

The man looked at me.

His eyes filled with tears.

“Nia.””

I stepped backward.

“No.””

He entered slowly.

“Sweetheart, please.””

I shook my head.

“You're dead.””

He looked down.

“I know what you were told.””

“I buried you.””

“I know.””

“You were in a coffin!””

His eyes filled.

“I wasn't.””

Grace stood between us.

“Who are you?””

The man looked at her.

“I'm your father.””

Grace began crying.

“That's what everyone keeps saying.””

He reached into his coat and removed an old photograph.

It showed him holding Grace and me as babies.

Then he produced another.

My mother was sitting on a hospital bed, holding a newborn child.

Catherine.

I stared at the photographs.

“Why did you let us believe you were dead?””

He closed his eyes.

“Because Thomas had threatened to kill all three of you if I didn't disappear.””

The room fell silent.

He explained that three years earlier, after discovering the extent of Thomas's financial crimes, he had been involved in a staged accident.

His car had gone over an embankment.

The body recovered from the wreckage had been identified as his through a combination of dental records and personal effects.

But the body wasn't his.

A former associate had helped him escape.

He had spent the following years living under a different identity, gathering evidence against Thomas, Diane, and everyone involved in the operation.

“Why didn't you contact me?”” I demanded.

“Because Marcus was watching you.””

I remembered the wedding.

The lounge.

The recording.

My father's letter.

“Did you know Marcus was going to propose?””

“Yes.””

“Then why didn't you stop him?””

“I tried to have him investigated. But Thomas had people inside the legal system. Every time we got close, evidence disappeared.””

I looked at him.

“You could have told me!””

“I know.””

“You could have trusted me!””

His face crumpled.

“I was afraid I'd lose you.””

I turned away.

For three years, I had mourned him.

I had visited his grave.

I had spoken to his photograph.

I had learned how to live without him.

And now he was standing in front of me, asking me to understand why he had allowed me to grieve.

Grace approached him slowly.

“Why did you let Diane raise me?””

His eyes filled.

“I didn't know where you were until much later.””

“Did you look for me?””

“Every day.””

“Then why didn't you come?””

“Because Diane threatened to expose Catherine's location. I had to protect the child who was still missing.””

Catherine began crying.

“Mom gave me away?””

Richard shook his head.

“No, sweetheart. Your mother saved you.””

He explained that Catherine had been born with a serious medical condition. The hospital had warned that she needed specialized treatment immediately.

Diane had discovered the situation and threatened to use Catherine's medical records to implicate Richard in a false kidnapping investigation.

Richard and his wife had agreed to let a trusted family friend take Catherine temporarily.

But the arrangement had been sabotaged.

Catherine had been moved to another hospital and eventually placed with a family under a different identity.

Her mother had never stopped looking.

“Where is Mom now?”” I asked quietly.

Richard's expression changed.

He looked at the three of us.

Then he said:

“Your mother is alive.””

I felt the room spin.

Grace grabbed my hand.

Catherine stared at him.

“What?””

Richard nodded.

“She has been living under protection.””

I couldn't speak.

He continued.

“She was the person who helped me expose Thomas. But when she discovered that the people involved had found Catherine's new identity, she disappeared again.””

I wiped my eyes.

“Where is she?””

Richard looked toward the window.

“She's coming here.””

Before anyone could respond, the hospital door opened.

A woman stood in the doorway.

Her hair was silver now.

Her face was thinner.

But I knew her immediately.

My mother.

She looked at us, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“My girls.””