Chapter 8: The Brother Sitting in the Front Row
Richard drove us back to Westbridge without speaking.
My father sat in the passenger seat holding the hospital transfer form.
I sat in the back, staring at the photograph of my mother and the baby.
Thomas.
My brother.
Alive.
Somewhere.
Possibly raised by the same family that had destroyed our lives.
When we reached our house, Richard finally spoke.
“There's only one way to find out whether Helen was telling the truth.””
My father looked at him.
“Your family's adoption records.””
Richard nodded.
“Arthur kept copies of every legal document connected to the family estate. After he died, Margaret took control of the archive.””
“Then we'll ask Margaret.””
Richard shook his head.
“She won't tell us anything.””
My father folded the transfer form.
“Then we'll make her.””
The following morning, I went to school alone.
My father had insisted that he and Richard needed time to locate the original records.
I wasn't happy about leaving them, but graduation preparations were underway, and Principal Hayes had asked me to attend a meeting.
When I entered the auditorium, Bryce was sitting on the stage.
He was scrolling through his phone.
“Look who's back.””
I ignored him.
He jumped down from the stage.
“Did you enjoy your little family investigation?””
I stopped.
“How did you know?””
He smiled.
“People talk.””
“Who told you?””
“Maybe your father should have been more careful about which secrets he shared.””
I stepped closer.
“Did you know about Thomas?””
For the first time, Bryce's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“Who's Thomas?””
“My brother.””
Bryce looked away.
Then he laughed.
“Your family really does have a talent for inventing tragedies.””
I pulled out my phone.
I showed him the hospital transfer form.
He stared at the signature.
His smile disappeared.
“Where did you get that?””
“From the nurse who watched my brother leave the hospital alive.””
Bryce took a step backward.
“That's impossible.””
“Why?””
He shook his head.
“You don't understand.””
“Then explain it.””
Before he could answer, a voice came from the auditorium entrance.
“Bryce, your father is looking for you.””
A young man stood near the doors.
He wore a Westbridge blazer and carried a folder under one arm.
I recognized him.
His name was Ethan Whitmore.
He was a senior student, although he had transferred to Westbridge only two years earlier.
He was quiet, academically gifted, and rarely attended school events.
Unlike Bryce, he never showed off his family's wealth.
He had once helped me carry a stack of books to the library.
I had always thought he was polite.
Now he was staring at the hospital form in my hand.
“Where did you get that?”” he asked.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“Why?””
Ethan approached.
“Let me see it.””
I hesitated.
He read the document.
Then his eyes moved to the date.
April 18, 2008.
His face went pale.
“That's my birthday.””
My heart began pounding.
“What?””
He looked at me.
“I was adopted.””
Bryce immediately stepped between us.
“Ethan, don't.””
Ethan ignored him.
“My parents told me I was adopted when I was thirteen. They said I came from a private medical center and that the records were sealed.””
I stared at him.
“Who are your parents?””
He swallowed.
“Arthur Whitmore and his second wife were listed as my legal guardians in the original papers. But I was raised by my aunt after Arthur died.””
Richard's words from the previous night echoed in my mind.
The family that adopted him was given a new surname.
Whitmore.
I looked at Ethan.
“Do you have a birth certificate?””
He nodded slowly.
“Somewhere.””
“Can you get it?””
Bryce grabbed his arm.
“Don't listen to her.””
Ethan pulled away.
“Why are you so worried?””
“Because she's trying to manipulate you!””
“Then why are you afraid of a piece of paper?””
Bryce's jaw tightened.
“Because you don't know what you're getting into.””
Ethan looked at me.
“What was your mother's name?””
“Elizabeth Mercer.””
His lips parted.
For a moment, he looked as though he might collapse.
Then he whispered:
“My adoption papers say my birth mother was Elizabeth Mercer.””
The room seemed to go silent.
I stared at him.
“You're Thomas?””
He shook his head.
“My name is Ethan.””
“Your original name was Thomas.””
He looked down.
“I don't know.””
I reached for his hand.
“Your mother gave birth to you. She held you. She wrote your name on a photograph.””
Ethan's eyes filled.
“Do you have that photograph?””
I nodded.
He sat down on the edge of the stage.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked a question that broke my heart.
“Did she know I was alive?””
I looked at him.
“No.””
He covered his face.
“She thought I was dead?””
“Yes.””
He began crying.
Bryce stood several feet away, looking increasingly uncomfortable.
Then he said something I will never forget.
“Ethan, you need to come with me.””
Ethan looked up.
“Why?””
Bryce hesitated.
“Because Dad told me not to let you talk to them.””
I froze.
“Your father knew?””
Bryce didn't answer.
Ethan slowly stood.
“Bryce, what are you talking about?””
Bryce ran a hand through his hair.
“Look, I didn't know everything. I just knew there was a reason you couldn't be involved in the trust.””
Ethan stared at him.
“Why?””
Bryce's voice dropped.
“Because if you're Thomas Mercer, you have a stronger claim than Sophie.””
I looked at Ethan.
Then at Bryce.
And suddenly, I understood why my brother's existence had been hidden.
He wasn't simply another child in the Mercer family.
He was the person who could destroy the Whitmore family's control of the foundation.
Ethan picked up his bag.
“I want to see my birth records.””
Bryce grabbed his sleeve.
“Don't be stupid.””
Ethan pulled free.
“Don't touch me.””
Bryce's face hardened.
“You have no idea what Dad sacrificed to raise you.””
Ethan stared at him.
“Raise me?””
He looked at me.
Then back at Bryce.
“Are you saying Richard Whitmore is my father?””
Bryce went silent.
And from the auditorium entrance, Richard's voice answered:
“No, Ethan.””
We turned.
Richard stood beside my father.
He looked at the young man with tears in his eyes.
“I'm your uncle.””
Ethan's lips trembled.
“Then who are my parents?””
My father stepped forward.
“I am.””
Ethan stared at him.
For eighteen years, he had believed his biological parents had abandoned him.
Now his father was standing three feet away.
My father reached out.
But Ethan stepped backward.
“Why didn't you come for me?””
My father broke.
“I thought you were dead, son.””
Ethan turned away.
May you like
And then he said the one thing none of us was prepared to hear.
“Then why did someone send me a birthday card every year with the words 'Your real family misses you'?””
