Chapter 4
I stared at my sister.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You found a picture of Patricia with Dad, and you never told me?”
“I didn’t know who she was back then.”
“You knew Patricia after I married Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“And you still said nothing?”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because I thought it was a coincidence.”
“A coincidence?”
“Emily, you met Daniel years after Dad died.”
Daniel stayed silent.
That made everything worse.
Rachel reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“Where is the photograph?”
“At my house.”
“Get it.”
“Emily—”
“Please.”
She nodded.
“I’ll bring it.”
Daniel stood.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You shouldn't be alone.”
“I’m not going to be alone.”
I pointed at the security cameras on the tablet.
“We change every lock. We reset the alarm. Patricia’s code gets deleted.”
Daniel hesitated.
“Rachel can go herself.”
“I need to see if Mom left anything else.”
My chest tightened.
“You think she did?”
“I don't know.”
“That’s the problem. Nobody knows anything except Patricia.”
Daniel crouched in front of me.
“I’ll be gone forty minutes.”
I wanted to argue.
Then my daughter kicked.
I pressed my hand against my belly.
“Forty.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Forty.”
They left.
I locked the door behind them.
Then I reset the alarm.
I was standing in the hallway when the doorbell rang.
My entire body tensed.
The camera showed a delivery driver.
I almost laughed from relief.
Then I noticed the package.
Small.
Brown.
No company logo.
The driver placed it on the porch and left.
I didn't open the door.
Not immediately.
I called Daniel.
“Did you order something?”
“No.”
“There’s a package.”
“Leave it outside.”
“What if it’s important?”
“Emily.”
I heard fear in his voice.
“Leave it.”
I agreed.
Five minutes later, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Then a text appeared.
THE PACKAGE BELONGS TO YOU.
My stomach tightened.
Another message.
YOUR MOTHER WANTED YOU TO HAVE IT.
I called Daniel again.
No answer.
Probably driving.
The unknown number called again.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
“Who is this?”
A man’s voice.
Old.
Weak.
“Emily Hayes?”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Richard Cole.”
I had never heard the name.
“You knew my mother?”
“I knew both your parents.”
“What do you want?”
“To fix something I should have fixed a long time ago.”
I looked toward the front door.
“Did you send the package?”
“Yes.”
“What’s inside?”
“A recording.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Of what?”
“Your father.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“My father has been dead nine years.”
“I know.”
“Why do you have a recording of him?”
Richard coughed.
Then said, “Because Robert thought someone was going to kill him.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“What?”
“He made copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“Evidence.”
“Against Patricia?”
Silence.
“Mr. Cole?”
“You need to listen to the recording.”
“Why now?”
“Because Patricia knows you found out about your mother.”
“How would she know that?”
Another pause.
Then he said something that terrified me.
“Because she’s been watching your family for years.”
The call ended.
I immediately called Daniel.
This time he answered.
“Emily?”
“There’s a man named Richard Cole.”
Daniel went silent.
“You know him?”
“My father’s lawyer.”
I stared at the package through the glass door.
“He says he knew my father.”
“I’m turning around.”
“No. Get the photograph.”
“Emily, don't touch that package.”
“I won't.”
“I mean it.”
“I said I won’t.”
He ended the call.
I sat on the couch.
Ten minutes passed.
Then the alarm beeped.
I froze.
The back door.
Someone had entered a code.
The alarm system announced:
ACCESS DENIED.
Again.
ACCESS DENIED.
My hands shook.
I opened the security app.
The back camera showed Patricia.
She stood outside holding a key.
My breath caught.
She tried the door.
Locked.
Then she looked directly at the camera.
And smiled.
I called 911.
Patricia knocked.
“Emily!”
I said nothing.
“I know you’re inside.”
The dispatcher answered.
I whispered our address.
Patricia knocked harder.
“Open the door.”
The dispatcher told me officers were coming.
Then Patricia lifted something toward the camera.
A folder.
“I brought the truth!”
I stayed on the phone.
“You want to know who you are?” she shouted.
“Open the door!”
I backed away.
Then she walked around the house.
I checked the cameras.
Side yard.
Front porch.
Garage.
She tried every entrance.
The dispatcher told me not to confront her.
Then Patricia disappeared.
I couldn't see her.
“Where did she go?” I whispered.
The dispatcher told me officers were two minutes away.
A sound came from upstairs.
I stopped breathing.
A scrape.
Then a thump.
The attic.
Patricia knew the house better than I realized.
Daniel’s father had helped renovate it years before we bought it.
There was an exterior attic access near the roofline.
I heard another noise.
Inside the house.
I grabbed the fireplace poker.
My hand hurt when I gripped it.
I moved toward the front door.
Then the upstairs floor creaked.
“Police are arriving,” the dispatcher said.
I saw flashing lights through the window.
The front doorbell rang.
“Police!”
I rushed forward.
Before I reached it, Patricia appeared at the top of the stairs.
I screamed.
She held the folder.
“How did you get in?”
“Your husband’s father built this house.”
“Stay away from me.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“You already did!”
The officer knocked harder.
“Ma’am, open the door.”
Patricia started coming down the stairs.
I raised the poker.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
Then she dropped the folder.
Papers spilled across the stairs.
One page landed face-up.
A birth certificate.
My birth certificate.
Except the mother’s name was different.
Not Susan Hayes.
Patricia Walker.
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
Patricia looked at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I told Daniel there were things you didn’t know.”
The police were shouting outside.
I stared at the document.
“No.”
“I gave birth to you, Emily.”
“You’re lying.”
“I was nineteen.”
“You’re lying!”
“Robert took you.”
“My father raised me.”
“He stole you from me.”
I screamed, “Stop!”
The baby kicked.
Pain tore through my abdomen.
Patricia took a step.
“Emily—”
“Don’t touch me!”
I unlocked the front door.
Two officers entered.
One immediately moved between us.
The second put Patricia against the wall.
She protested.
“This is my son’s house!”
“It is not,” I said.
The officer handcuffed her.
Patricia twisted around.
“Read the certificate!”
I looked at the paper.
My vision blurred.
“This is fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“You forged Daniel’s signature.”
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
The officer noticed.
I did too.
“You did forge it.”
Patricia said nothing.
Then Daniel rushed through the open door.
“Emily!”
He saw the police.
He saw his mother.
Then he saw the birth certificate.
He picked it up.
The color left his face.
“No.”
Patricia laughed through tears.
“Now you understand.”
Daniel looked at me.
Then at Patricia.
“Emily is your daughter?”
“Yes.”
The room went completely silent.
Daniel looked physically sick.
“Then…”
His eyes dropped to my stomach.
I understood his fear.
So did Patricia.
And suddenly she smiled.
“You see the problem now.”
I almost threw up.
Daniel backed against the wall.
“No.”
Patricia’s voice softened.
“You married my daughter.”
“No.”
“She’s your sister.”
“Stop!”
His shout shook the hallway.
I grabbed the staircase railing.
My world was collapsing.
But something bothered me.
The ages.
Patricia said she was nineteen when she had me.
Daniel was thirty-eight.
I was thirty-three.
Five years apart.
Possible.
Horrifyingly possible.
Daniel looked at the birth certificate again.
Then he suddenly froze.
“Wait.”
He looked at Patricia.
“My blood type.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“I’m O negative.”
He pointed toward me.
“Emily is AB positive.”
Patricia said nothing.
Daniel’s father had been O positive.
Patricia was O negative.
Two type-O parents could not have an AB child.
Daniel looked at the certificate.
Then at his mother.
“You’re lying.”
Her face went pale.
“You forged this too.”
“No.”
“You are not Emily’s biological mother.”
Patricia shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it!”
The officers exchanged looks.
One picked up the papers.
Daniel stepped toward Patricia.
“What are you trying to do?”
Her confidence finally cracked.
“I was trying to save you.”
“From what?”
“From him.”
“Who?”
Patricia looked toward the door.
A car had pulled into the driveway.
Rachel got out first.
Then an elderly man stepped out of the passenger side.
I recognized his voice before he reached the porch.
Richard Cole.
Daniel stared at him.
“My father’s lawyer.”
Richard walked inside holding a thick envelope.
He looked at Patricia in handcuffs.
Then at me.
His expression was full of sadness.
“Emily.”
Patricia started screaming.
“Don’t listen to him!”
Richard ignored her.
He handed me the envelope.
“This is the original.”
“Original what?”
“Your birth record.”
My hands trembled.
Daniel opened it for me.
The mother’s name was Susan Hayes.
The woman who raised me.
But the father’s line was not Robert Hayes.
Daniel read the name.
Then went completely still.
I looked down.
My biological father was listed as:
Thomas Walker.
Daniel’s father.
I couldn't breathe.
Daniel whispered, “Dad?”
Richard nodded.
Patricia began laughing hysterically.
“You wanted the truth.”
Daniel stared at me.
His face broke.
If the document was real, I wasn't his sister through Patricia.
I was his sister through Thomas.
And the baby inside me was Daniel’s daughter.
The room started spinning.
Then Richard grabbed the paper.
“No.”
He looked closer.
“What?”
Daniel stared at him.
Richard shook his head.
“This one has been altered too.”
Patricia stopped laughing.
Richard looked directly at her.
May you like
“What did you do?”
And for the first time since this nightmare began, Patricia looked afraid.
