The Papers Diane Wanted Buried

The gunshot shattered the garage window.

Richard shoved me to the floor as glass rained over us. Evelyn screamed. Marcus fired twice toward the corridor, forcing Thomas behind a concrete pillar.

“Get her out!”” Marcus shouted.

Richard grabbed my arm.

“Can you run?””

I nodded, although my knees felt ready to collapse.

We scrambled toward the SUV. Evelyn climbed into the front passenger seat while Richard helped me into the back. Marcus slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and reversed so violently that the tires screamed against the concrete.

Another bullet struck the rear door.

I ducked, wrapping both arms around my stomach.

“Is the baby okay?”” Richard shouted.

“I think so!””

He pressed a hand against my shoulder.

“Stay down, sweetheart.””

Sweetheart.

The word was so ordinary, so achingly gentle, that I nearly broke apart.

I'd spent twenty-eight years without knowing him. Now he was shielding me from gunfire, calling me sweetheart as though he'd been there for every scraped knee, every fever, every birthday I'd celebrated without understanding why a part of me always felt missing.

I wanted to ask him a thousand questions.

Instead, I held my stomach and prayed my daughter would survive the truth surrounding her family.

Marcus drove through a service gate at the rear of the estate. Within minutes, the mansion disappeared behind a line of trees.

Evelyn turned in her seat.

“Richard, Thomas said Margaret had twins.””

Richard stared out the window.

“I heard him.””

“Is it true?””

He closed his eyes.

“Yes.””

My breath caught.

“Why didn't you tell me?””

“Because I didn't know where your sister was. Thomas told me the second baby had died.””

I stared at him.

“Another death certificate?””

“A second set of forged records. I found evidence of the twin's birth years later, but every document identifying her had been altered.””

“Then how do you know she's alive?””

Richard turned toward me.

“Because Thomas once sent me a photograph of two little girls standing outside a school.””

My heart began pounding.

“One was me?””

“Yes. The other girl had your face.””

I shook my head.

“No. That isn't possible.””

Richard reached into his coat and removed a small photograph.

It was creased down the middle, as though someone had folded it and carried it for years.

Two little girls stood beside a playground fence.

One had a crooked ponytail and a missing front tooth. The other wore a red coat and held a stuffed rabbit.

They looked almost identical.

I recognized the red coat.

I'd seen it in an old family album Diane kept in her bedroom.

She had once told me it belonged to a cousin who died in infancy.

I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.

“Who is she?””

Richard hesitated.

“I don't know her current name.””

Evelyn leaned forward.

“Where was this taken?””

“Outside a private school in Westchester. The photograph was dated twelve years ago.””

I studied the girl holding the rabbit.

She had a tiny scar above her right eyebrow.

A familiar scar.

My sister had stood beside me at my wedding.

She had held my hand while I cried during my first ultrasound. She had helped me decorate the nursery and bought the little yellow blanket now packed in my hospital bag.

Her name was Lauren.

Lauren Bennett.

My closest friend since college.

I looked up so quickly that pain shot through my neck.

“No.””

Richard frowned.

“Nia?””

“Lauren has that scar.””

Evelyn stared at me.

“Are you certain?””

I nodded.

“It's above her right eyebrow. She told me she fell off a bicycle when she was a child.””

Richard took the photograph back and examined it.

His fingers began to tremble.

“Lauren?””

I pulled out my phone.

My hands shook so badly that I nearly dropped it. I opened Lauren's contact and scrolled through our messages.

The most recent was from that morning.

*How are you feeling? Tell me the baby is okay. I'm coming over tonight with dinner. Love you.*

I stared at the words.

Lauren had known about the attack before I'd told her.

She'd called me twice while I was in the hospital.

I'd assumed she was worried because I was pregnant.

Now I wondered whether she had recognized something in the story that frightened her.

I called her.

She answered on the second ring.

“Nia? Thank God. I've been trying to reach you.””

Her voice sounded exactly as it always had.

Warm. Familiar. Safe.

I nearly cried.

“Lauren, I need to ask you something.””

“Anything. Where are you?””

“Do you know who your biological parents are?””

Silence.

Not confusion.

Not surprise.

Silence.

Then Lauren whispered, “Who told you?””

I closed my eyes.

The answer was all I needed.

“It's true,” I said.

“Nia, please listen to me.””

“Are you my sister?””

A sharp breath came through the phone.

“Yes.””

The word seemed to split my life in two.

I pressed my free hand against my mouth.

Lauren began crying.

“I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.””

“When?””

“I don't know how to explain.””

“Try.””

“My adoptive parents received me through a private agency. They were told my biological mother had died and that the other baby hadn't survived. I found out when I was nineteen.””

“And you never told me?””

“I didn't know you were my sister!””

“You knew we looked alike. You knew the adoption records were sealed. You knew my birthday matched yours.””

“I thought it was a coincidence!””

“Did you?””

She didn't answer.

I stared at the photograph in Richard's hand.

“Lauren, did you know Diane Whitmore was involved?””

Another silence.

Then she whispered, “Yes.””

My chest tightened.

“How long?””

“Since I was twenty-four.””

Four years.

Four years of friendship, shared holidays, late-night conversations, and whispered secrets.

Four years in which my sister had known something about my identity that could have changed everything.

“Why didn't you tell me?””

“Because I was afraid.””

“Of what?””

“Of losing you.””

I laughed through my tears.

“You had me, Lauren. You had me every single day.””

“I know.””

“You watched me marry Daniel. You helped me plan a future with him. You knew we might be related, and you said nothing.””

“I didn't know that part. I didn't know Richard was Daniel's father. I only knew Diane had arranged our adoptions.””

I gripped the phone harder.

“Where are you?””

“At home.””

“Stay there.””

“Nia, please—”

“I'm coming to see you.””

I ended the call.

Richard looked at me with sorrowful eyes.

“You don't have to face her today.””

“Yes, I do.””

Evelyn reached across the seat and squeezed my hand.

“We'll go together.””

I looked at the photograph again.

Two little girls.

Two stolen identities.

Two lives that had somehow crossed paths long before either of us understood why.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message appeared from an unknown number.

*If you want to know why Lauren was allowed to stay with her adoptive parents while you were taken from Margaret, ask her what happened on her eighteenth birthday.*

Beneath the message was a photograph of a hospital bracelet.

The name printed on it was Lauren Bennett.

The date was October 12.