Chapter 6: The Daughter My Mother Raised
My mother lived in a large colonial house on the outskirts of town.
It was the same house where I'd spent every Christmas of my childhood.
The same house where my father had announced his retirement, where Sarah and I had celebrated our engagement, and where my mother had cried when we told her we were expecting our first child.
I had never imagined that another one of my children might have been living there.
Melissa refused to explain further during the drive.
She sat in the passenger seat, clutching the photograph.
“Tell me what you know,” I demanded.
She stared through the windshield.
“Your mother visited me three weeks after Sarah died.””
“And?””
“She told me she had something to show me.””
“What?””
“A baby.””
I almost swerved.
“What?””
Melissa grabbed the dashboard.
“Ryan, please watch the road.””
“You said my mother visited you with a baby?””
“She told me the child belonged to a distant relative. She said the baby's mother had died.””
“And you believed her?””
“I was confused. Then I saw the birthmark.””
I felt my hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Which birthmark?””
“The crescent beneath the left ear.””
I pulled into a gas station parking lot.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
Melissa began crying.
“Because your father was standing beside her. He told me that if I said anything, Lily would disappear.””
I stared at her.
“You let me believe my daughter was dead while my mother raised her twin?””
“I was afraid!””
“And what about the little girl behind the wall? Was she supposed to spend her entire childhood there?””
Melissa lowered her head.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.””
“Good. Because I don't know if I can.””
We continued driving.
When we reached my mother's house, the front door was unlocked.
A television played somewhere upstairs.
The smell of cinnamon and freshly baked bread drifted through the hallway.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
“Mom?”” I called.
No answer.
I walked toward the staircase.
Then I heard a little girl laughing.
The sound came from the sunroom.
I pushed the door open.
My mother sat on a sofa, holding a little girl in her lap.
The child had blonde hair, bright brown eyes, and a tiny scar across her forehead.
She looked exactly like Lily.
Beside them was a wooden toy house.
My mother looked up.
The smile disappeared from her face.
“Ryan.””
I couldn't speak.
The little girl turned toward me.
“Grandma, who's that?””
My mother placed a protective arm around her.
“That's your uncle, sweetheart.””
I felt something inside me break.
“Uncle?””
The child smiled politely.
“Hi.””
I crouched.
“What's your name?””
“Grace.””
My eyes filled.
“Hi, Grace.””
My mother stood.
“You shouldn't be here.””
I looked at her.
“Neither should my daughter have been hidden in a wall.””
Her face went pale.
Grace looked between us.
“Grandma, why is that man crying?””
My mother immediately picked her up.
“Go upstairs, darling. Take your coloring books.””
Grace hesitated.
“Can I show him my picture?””
“No.””
The sharpness in my mother's voice frightened her.
She ran upstairs.
I waited until her footsteps disappeared.
Then I faced my mother.
“Is she my daughter?””
My mother sat down.
For a long time, she said nothing.
Finally, she nodded.
“Yes.””
I covered my mouth.
“Why?””
“Your father believed it was the best solution.””
“Stop blaming Dad for everything! You're her grandmother. You knew exactly who she was.””
My mother began crying.
“Your father told me that one of the twins had a genetic abnormality. He said the children were part of an experiment and that keeping both together would put them in danger.””
“What experiment?””
“I don't know.””
“You raised her for five years!””
“I loved her!””
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
My mother reached for my hand.
“Because your father said you weren't biologically related to him. He told me there was a chance you weren't even Sarah's husband when she conceived.””
I stepped away.
“That's another lie.””
My mother looked confused.
“What?””
“Bennett claimed Sarah had another relationship. Dad claimed I was adopted. Everyone has a different story.””
She stood abruptly.
“Ryan, there is something you need to understand about your father.””
“What?””
“He wasn't just funding Bennett's research.””
She walked to an old writing desk and opened a locked drawer.
Inside was a small medical file.
She removed a laboratory report.
The paper was dated six years earlier.
At the top were two names.
Arthur Mitchell.
Ryan Mitchell.
Below them was a genetic comparison.
I stared at the results.
My father's name appeared beside a percentage that made no sense to me.
Then I read the conclusion.
*Biological parentage confirmed.*
I looked up.
“Why would there be a paternity test between me and Dad?””
My mother wiped her cheeks.
“Because your father ordered it.””
“Why?””
She handed me another document.
It was a confidential report concerning a private fertility clinic.
There were details about my birth, my biological parents, and an experimental embryo-transfer program.
My hands began trembling.
Then I saw the final page.
A handwritten note from my father.
If Ryan discovers the truth about his biological origin, neither child can remain in the family.
I looked at my mother.
“What does this mean?””
Before she could answer, a voice came from the staircase.
“Grandma?””
Grace was standing there.
She held a drawing in her hand.
“Why does that man have my picture?””
I turned toward her.
“What picture, sweetheart?””
She walked down two steps and held up the paper.
It showed three people holding hands.
A little girl.
Another little girl.
And a tall man with dark hair.
Underneath, in crooked letters, she'd written:
*ME, LILY, AND MY REAL DADDY.*
I crouched.
“Grace, who told you about Lily?””
She pointed toward the upstairs hallway.
“The doctor.””
My stomach tightened.
“What doctor?””
She looked frightened.
“The man who visits Grandma when she's sleeping.””
Then she whispered:
“He said you're not supposed to know you're our father.””
A car horn sounded outside.
My mother rushed to the window.
Her face went completely white.
A black SUV had stopped at the gate.
The driver's door opened.
My father stepped out.
But he wasn't alone.
Dr. Bennett climbed out of the passenger seat, carrying a medical case.
And behind them, a third man opened the rear door.
He was holding a document with my name printed across the top.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“Ryan, we have to get Grace out of here.””
I looked down at the little girl.
“Why?””
My mother began trembling.
“Because that document is the original agreement your father signed before you were born.””
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She leaned closer and whispered:
“Ryan, your father didn't steal just one baby. He bought the right to decide who would become your family.””
