Chapter 6: The Secret About My Birth
Nobody spoke after Daniel's words.
The kitchen clock ticked above the doorway. Somewhere outside, a car passed through the wet street, its headlights sweeping across the windows.
Dad held the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“What did you just say?”” he asked.
Daniel cleared his throat.
“Michael, I think we should discuss this in person.””
“No. You called my house and told me that my dead wife paid you to keep a secret about my daughter. You're going to explain yourself now.””
“That's not how I intended to phrase it.””
“Then choose your words carefully.””
I moved closer to the phone.
“What secret about my birth?””
Daniel went quiet.
Dad looked at me, and I saw something in his expression that frightened me more than anything Laura had done.
Uncertainty.
“Emma,” he said gently, “let me handle this.””
“No. Everyone keeps saying they know something about me, and nobody will tell me what it is.””
Daniel exhaled.
“Your mother was worried about you. She wanted to make sure you were protected financially.””
“Protected from whom?””
“From people who might try to claim what belonged to you.””
Dad interrupted.
“You said Rebecca paid you. Was it for legal services?””
“Yes.””
“Then why would you describe it as a secret about Emma's birth?””
Daniel didn't answer.
Dad's voice became colder.
“Did you alter any of the financial documents?””
“No.””
“Did you open an account using my wife's identity?””
“No.””
“Did you receive money from Emma's savings?””
A pause.
“Not directly.””
That answer made my stomach turn.
Dad leaned closer to the phone.
“What does 'not directly' mean?””
“I can't discuss financial matters without reviewing the records.””
“You just called us.””
“Because Laura said you were about to make accusations that could damage several people.””
Dad gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Several people? My daughter has two hundred dollars left in an account that should contain thirty thousand.””
“I understand.””
“No, you don't.””
Dad ended the call.
For a moment, he stared at the dark phone screen. Then he placed it on the table and turned toward me.
“I'm sorry.””
I folded my arms around myself.
“Do you think he's telling the truth?””
“I don't know.””
“Do you think there's something you don't know about me?””
Dad looked as if I'd struck him.
“Emma, you're my daughter. Nothing that man says changes that.””
“But what if—”
“Listen to me.”” He took both my hands.
“I was there when you took your first steps. I held you through the night when you had an ear infection. I taught you to ride a bicycle in the park behind our old house. I watched you learn to read, lose your first tooth, and cry when you couldn't bring home every stray animal you found.””
His voice cracked.
“Whatever secrets your mother may have kept, I have never doubted that you are my child.””
Tears filled my eyes.
“I just want someone to tell me the truth.””
“I know.””
He pulled me into a hug, and I pressed my face against his shoulder.
For a moment, I was six years old again, hiding from thunderstorms in my parents' bedroom.
Then Tyler spoke from the other side of the table.
“There's something I haven't told you.””
Dad released me.
“What now?””
Tyler rubbed his hands together.
“About the account. Mom didn't just say Rebecca had left money for Emma. She said the money was connected to a person named Peter.””
Dad's face changed.
“Peter who?””
“I don't know. She mentioned the name during one of her calls with Daniel. She said Peter had already paid his part, and that the remaining money would be released after the documents were changed.””
Dad stood so abruptly that his chair scraped backward.
“Changed how?””
Tyler shook his head.
“I don't know. But I remember Mom saying that once Emma turned eighteen, nobody would be able to challenge it.””
I looked between them.
“Challenge what?””
Neither answered.
Dad picked up the documents and began sorting them again. He separated the pages into three piles: bank records, legal forms, and personal correspondence.
Then he found something tucked inside the back cover of the envelope.
A small folded card.
It contained a handwritten name, a date, and a reference number.
At the bottom was a phrase:
Beneficiary amendment — pending identity verification.
Dad read it twice.
“This may explain why the bank flagged the account.””
He photographed the card and sent it to his attorney.
A reply came within minutes.
The attorney advised him not to assume the documents were authentic. He would arrange for a forensic review and request records from the institution named on the paperwork.
Dad looked at the clock.
“It's late. We're not solving this tonight.””
“I can't sleep,” I said.
“Then I'll stay up with you.””
He made me a sandwich, although I could barely eat. Tyler went upstairs to retrieve the rest of the documents from Laura's office, but he returned empty-handed.
“The box is gone.””
Dad looked up sharply.
“What do you mean, gone?””
“It was on the shelf beside the filing cabinet. Now it's missing.””
Dad hurried upstairs.
I followed him.
Laura's office was exactly as we'd left it, except for the empty space on the shelf. The drawer where Tyler had found the letter remained open. A few papers lay scattered on the floor.
Dad checked the closet and the cabinets.
Nothing.
“Did Laura take it?”” I asked.
“She may have,” Dad said.
“We'll document what's missing and tell the attorney.””
Tyler stared at the open drawer.
“She knew we found it.””
Dad took out his phone and called Laura. It went straight to voicemail.
He left a message telling her not to remove or destroy any documents connected to the disputed transactions.
Then he turned toward the hallway.
“We're changing the locks tomorrow. Until the attorney advises us otherwise, no one takes anything else from this house.””
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
The message contained no greeting, only a photograph.
It showed my mother sitting in a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
Me.
My mother looked exhausted but happy. A man stood beside her, his face partially hidden by the camera angle.
Beneath the photograph was a single sentence.
Your father isn't the only person who knows the truth about your birth.
I showed Dad.
He stared at the image for several seconds.
Then he enlarged the photograph and focused on the man's hand resting on my mother's shoulder.
There was a distinctive silver ring on his finger.
Dad's expression collapsed.
“No,” he whispered.
“Dad, who is that?””
He didn't answer.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Please. Who is he?””
Dad looked at the photograph again, then at the message.
Finally, he said, “That's Peter Reeves.””
Tyler's eyes widened.
“Daniel's brother?””
Dad nodded slowly.
Then another message arrived.
Ask Michael why Peter was at the hospital the night you were born. And ask him why your mother paid Daniel to keep him away.
Dad sat down on the edge of the bed.
For the first time in my life, I watched my father look afraid of a truth he could no longer hide.
May you like
And when I asked him whether Peter Reeves was my biological father, he closed his eyes and whispered the words that shattered everything I thought I knew.
“I don't know, Emma. I was never told the whole story.””
