Chapter 8
I looked at the photograph.
Then at Emily.
“No.”
Her face fell.
I immediately realized how it sounded.
“No,” I repeated. “Not because I’m afraid of the result.”
“Then why?”
“Because this is insane.”
Michael leaned back.
“DNA is simple.”
“You don’t get to speak.”
“I’m just saying—”
“You have spent twenty years blaming everyone else for choices you made.”
My voice rose.
“Now you are dropping photographs on the table like grenades because you’re dying and want everyone else to explode with you.”
The diner went quiet.
Michael stared at me.
I didn’t care.
Emily touched my arm.
“Dad.”
I stopped.
She looked terrified.
Not of me.
Of the question.
That changed everything.
“You want me to test?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
“That means yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I sat again.
“If you need certainty, we’ll get certainty.”
Michael looked almost satisfied.
I pointed at him.
“This is not for you.”
His smile disappeared.
“This is for her.”
Emily nodded.
We left.
On the drive home, she barely spoke.
Then she asked, “Do you remember talking to Mom?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“I remember the picnic now. I remember playing softball. I remember one of the project managers bringing his German shepherd. I remember eating three hot dogs because I was broke and the food was free.”
She laughed weakly.
“But your mom?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t remember her.”
“Maybe you were drunk.”
“I didn’t drink at work events.”
“Maybe she was.”
“Possible.”
She stared out the window.
“Would it matter to you?”
“What?”
“If you were my biological father.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“It would matter as information.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You wouldn’t be happy?”
I thought about it.
“I’d be shocked.”
She smiled slightly.
“But happy?”
“I don’t need DNA to make you more mine.”
She turned away quickly.
I knew she was crying.
We stopped at a testing center that afternoon.
Angela insisted on an accredited lab with verified identities.
Emily gave a sample.
So did I.
Results would take several days.
I hated waiting.
The wedding was six weeks away.
The family felt like it had already survived six years in one week.
Sarah moved into the guest room without me asking.
We spoke politely.
Carefully.
Like strangers sharing a rental house.
Two days later, Daniel Cole called.
I almost didn’t answer.
“David Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Daniel.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“I assume you know why I’m calling.”
“Emily contacted you?”
“She sent me a message.”
“Did you answer?”
“Not yet.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because she said you raised her.”
“I did.”
Daniel exhaled.
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
That was the first sensible sentence I had heard from a possible biological father.
“What do you know?”
“Sarah and I dated briefly.”
“She told us.”
“She was separated from Michael.”
“She didn’t say that.”
Another lie.
Or omission.
“At least she told me they were separated.”
“Were they?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel sounded genuinely uncomfortable.
“We were young. Stupid. It lasted maybe two months.”
“Did you sleep together?”
“Yes.”
No dancing around it.
No games.
I appreciated that.
“Michael says you told him you were sterile.”
“I did.”
“Are you?”
Daniel paused.
“I was told I probably couldn’t have children.”
“Probably?”
“At seventeen, I had complications from mumps. A doctor told my parents fertility could be affected.”
“Did you ever get tested?”
“Years later.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“I’m not sterile.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“When did you find out?”
“In my thirties.”
“Did you think about Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“Did you contact her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She was married.”
“To me by then.”
“I looked her up once.”
My jaw tightened.
“You knew about Emily?”
“I saw she had a daughter.”
“Did the age match?”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
“What was I supposed to do? Knock on a married woman’s door and ask if her child was mine because a doctor had changed his mind?”
“Yes.”
Daniel went quiet.
I realized how angry I sounded.
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said. “You’re entitled.”
“No. Emily is entitled. I’m just tired.”
“I understand.”
I almost laughed.
“You might want to avoid that phrase around here.”
He actually chuckled.
Then grew serious.
“If Emily wants a DNA test, I’ll do it.”
“She already tested with me.”
Silence.
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think…”
“I don’t know.”
“How could that happen?”
“There’s a photograph of Sarah and me talking before we officially met.”
Daniel was quiet again.
“Lakeside picnic?”
“Yes.”
“I remember you.”
My heart stopped.
“You do?”
“Not your name.”
“What do you remember?”
“You were the electrician.”
“Yes.”
“Sarah talked to you for a while.”
My mouth went dry.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Michael and I were playing horseshoes.”
“Was she drunk?”
“No.”
“Was I?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Did we leave together?”
Daniel laughed once.
“No.”
I felt relief.
“Then why…”
“I think she was asking about your company.”
“I didn’t have a company.”
“The contractor you worked for.”
That triggered something.
A memory.
A woman asking whether our company hired apprentices.
She said her cousin needed work.
Dark hair.
Sunglasses.
I had forgotten her face entirely.
“Oh my God.”
“You remember?”
“Maybe.”
Nothing romantic.
Nothing secret.
A five-minute conversation.
Michael had turned it into doubt.
I thanked Daniel and ended the call.
Then I called Emily.
“The photograph means nothing.”
I explained.
She went silent.
“So Michael knew?”
“He might have.”
“He made me think…”
“Yes.”
Her voice hardened.
“I’m done with him.”
I didn’t celebrate.
“He’s dying.”
“I don’t care.”
“You do.”
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“Fair.”
She sighed.
“I’m angry.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
“Fair again.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then became serious.
“Dad, I changed the ceremony.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“What did you decide?”
“I’m walking myself.”
That hurt.
She heard the silence.
“I knew you’d be upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“That’s worse.”
“It’s honest.”
“I don’t want the aisle to be about choosing between men.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you’d fight me.”
“I already told you. I won’t compete.”
She breathed out.
“Thank you.”
After the call, I sat alone in my office.
It was the right decision.
I knew that.
It still hurt.
Three days later, the DNA lab emailed.
My hands shook opening the portal.
I stared at the result.
Probability of paternity:
0%.
I was not Emily’s biological father.
I didn’t realize how much hope I had allowed myself until it disappeared.
I sat for ten minutes.
Then Emily called.
“You saw it.”
“Yes.”
She was crying.
“Dad.”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Because part of me wanted it to be you.”
That broke me.
“Me too.”
We cried together.
Then I said, “Call Daniel.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
“If he’s my father…”
“He deserves the chance to know you.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What if I want him in my life?”
I closed my eyes.
There was the old wound again.
The fear I had been trying not to admit.
That biology could open a door and push me out.
But this time I would not make Emily carry my fear.
“Then let him in.”
She was silent.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“How can you promise?”
“Because I’m not going anywhere.”
The words sounded familiar.
Twenty years earlier, a little girl had asked me whether I would still come over after I married her mother.
I had said the same thing.
I’m not going anywhere.
This time I meant it just as much.
Daniel took the test.
We waited.
Meanwhile, Michael’s condition worsened.
Emily did not visit him.
He texted.
Called.
Sent flowers.
She ignored everything.
Then one evening, I received a call from the hospital.
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“A patient named Michael Reynolds listed you as his emergency contact.”
I nearly laughed.
“There must be a mistake.”
“He specifically gave us your name.”
“Why?”
“He’s asking to see you.”
I looked at Sarah.
She had heard.
“Is he dying?”
The nurse paused.
“His condition is serious.”
I drove to the hospital alone.
Michael looked smaller in the bed.
No charm.
No smile.
Just a sick man.
“You came,” he whispered.
“Why am I here?”
He looked toward the door.
“Emily won’t answer.”
“She has that right.”
“I know.”
That surprised me.
He coughed.
“I messed everything up.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I had one last chance…”
“You tried to take my place.”
He closed his eyes.
“I wanted someone to remember me as her father.”
“You could have been remembered as the man who came back and apologized.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“So you manipulated her.”
“Yes.”
The word hung there.
No defense.
No excuse.
Then he whispered, “The land is real.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because it belongs to Emily if Daniel is her father.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Michael opened his eyes.
“My father wasn’t just my father.”
I waited.
May you like
He smiled weakly.
“He was Daniel’s father too.”
