Chapter 13: The Truth About My Name
My father opened the email at midnight.
I know because I was awake.
The house felt strange without Vanessa there.
Not peaceful.
Not yet.
Just empty.
I walked downstairs and found my father sitting in front of his computer.
The screen lit up his tired face.
“Dad?””
He quickly closed the laptop.
But then he saw me.
And sighed.
“You should be asleep.””
“So should you.””
He smiled faintly.
“You sound like Ava.””
I walked closer.
“What did the email say?””
For a few seconds, he didn’t answer.
Then he moved the laptop toward me.
“I think you deserve to know.””
The email was from the private investigator.
There were attached files.
Documents.
Reports.
Photos.
The first page was about my birth records.
I didn’t understand most of the words.
But one sentence caught my attention.
No evidence found suggesting Daniel is not the biological father.
I looked at my dad.
“What does that mean?””
His face softened.
“It means someone paid to investigate whether I was your real father.””
My stomach twisted.
“Vanessa thought you weren’t?””
“I don’t know.””
We kept reading.
The investigator had followed a trail of old documents.
And then we found the reason Vanessa was searching.
It wasn’t because of me.
Not exactly.
It was because of my mother.
There was another name.
A man I had never heard of.
A person connected to my mother’s life before my father.
My hands became cold.
“Who is that?””
My father stared at the name.
“I don’t know.””
The next page explained that Vanessa had searched for information about this man.
But she never told my father.
Why?
That was the question.
The answer came from another attached file.
A recorded interview.
With the private investigator.
My father played it.
A man’s voice filled the room.
“Vanessa hired me because she believed Noah’s mother had a secret.””
A pause.
“She wanted proof that Daniel wasn’t Noah’s biological father.””
My father closed his eyes.
“But?””
The investigator continued.
“I found no proof.””
I looked at my father.
“She was wrong.””
He nodded.
But then the recording continued.
“There was something else.””
My father pressed the volume higher.
“What?””
The investigator answered:
“She wasn’t trying to prove Noah wasn’t Daniel’s son.””
Silence.
“She was trying to prove something else.””
My father leaned closer.
“What?””
The investigator took a breath.
“She was trying to prove Noah belonged to someone else.””
The room froze.
I couldn’t move.
“What does that mean?””
My father immediately shut the laptop.
“Noah.””
“No.””
I looked at him.
“I need to know.””
He hesitated.
Then he opened it again.
The final attachment was a message between Vanessa and the investigator.
One sentence stood out.
If Noah discovers the truth about his mother, he will finally understand why she never trusted Vanessa.
My heart pounded.
My mother never trusted Vanessa.
But why?
The next morning, Rachel came over.
She brought another box.
“I found something else.””
My father looked exhausted.
“What now?””
Rachel placed the box on the table.
“Your wife’s old belongings.””
My father frowned.
“Why do you have those?””
“Because Vanessa asked me to keep them.””
Inside was a folder.
My father opened it.
And pulled out a photograph.
A photograph of my mother.
Standing beside Vanessa.
I stared.
“I thought they barely knew each other.””
My father looked confused.
“They didn’t.””
Rachel whispered:
“They did.””
Everyone turned toward her.
“What?””
Rachel swallowed.
“Vanessa wasn’t a stranger who entered your family after your mother died.””
My father stared.
“Then who was she?””
Rachel looked at the photograph.
“She was someone your wife trusted once.””
My father went silent.
“Before everything changed.””
I looked at the picture again.
Two women.
Smiling.
Together.
May you like
And suddenly, the biggest question wasn’t why Vanessa hated me.
It was why someone who once stood beside my mother became the person who hurt her son.
