Chapter 8: The Daughter Who Thought I Abandoned Her
I sat on the edge of my bed for almost an hour after the call ended.
Not because Emma hung up.
Because she didn’t.
She stayed silent.
And somehow that hurt more.
A stranger’s silence.
My own daughter’s silence.
A girl who shared my blood but had never shared my life.
The next morning, Emma agreed to meet.
Alone.
She didn’t want Claire there.
She didn’t want Mark there.
And honestly, I understood.
She had spent her entire life surrounded by adults who made choices for her.
The last thing she needed was another person controlling the conversation.
I arrived at the park twenty minutes early.
I sat on a bench beneath an old oak tree.
The same kind of tree I used to climb with Lily when she was young.
That thought almost made me leave.
Because it felt unfair.
How could I sit here waiting for Emma while Lily was upstairs wondering if she had lost her father?
How could I love two daughters who represented two different tragedies?
Then I saw her.
A girl walking slowly toward me.
Seventeen years old.
Dark hair.
Nervous expression.
Holding a backpack against her chest like armor.
She stopped a few feet away.
“Ethan?””
I stood.
“Emma.””
She looked at me carefully.
Like she was searching for something.
A familiar gesture.
A similar expression.
Anything.
“You look different than I imagined.””
The words hurt.
“What did you imagine?””
She shrugged.
“Someone who didn’t care.””
I looked down.
“Emma…”
“No.””
Her voice cracked.
“I need to ask.””
I nodded.
“Okay.””
“Did you know about me?””
I took a breath.
“Yes.””
Her face changed.
“When?””
“Only recently.””
She looked away.
“So you didn’t know?””
“No.””
“But you knew there was a chance.””
I froze.
“What?””
“Mark told me.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did he tell you?””
She laughed bitterly.
“He told me you found out and chose not to come.””
“That’s a lie.””
“I know that now.””
I looked at her.
“Now?””
She nodded.
“I found something.””
She opened her backpack.
Pulled out a small box.
Inside were letters.
Old letters.
“What are these?””
“My mom’s.””
I frowned.
“You found them?””
“At Mark’s house.””
My heart tightened.
“What did they say?””
Emma looked down.
“She wrote letters to you.””
The world went quiet.
“She never sent them.””
“Why?””
“Because Mark hid them.””
I touched one envelope.
My name was written across the front.
My hands shook.
“How many?””
“Twenty-three.””
Twenty-three letters.
Twenty-three moments where someone tried to reach me.
Twenty-three times Mark stopped it.
Emma watched my reaction.
“He wanted me to hate you.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
“Because if I hated you, I would need him.””
The cruelty of it was almost impossible to understand.
“He raised me.””
Her voice broke.
“For seventeen years, he was my dad.””
I nodded slowly.
“I understand.””
“No, you don’t.””
She wiped her eyes.
“You have Lily.””
The words hurt.
But they were honest.
“Yes.””
“You got to have a daughter.””
I looked at her.
“And you got taken away from me.””
She nodded.
Neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered:
“I’m angry at you.””
I nodded.
“You have every right.””
“But I also feel guilty.””
“Why?””
“Because I’m angry at a man who might be my father.””
I shook my head.
“Emma.””
“What?””
“None of this is your fault.””
She looked at me.
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
“Because it’s true.””
She looked down.
“Do you hate Mark?””
The question surprised me.
I thought about it.
About my brother.
About everything he stole.
“Yes.””
She looked hurt.
I immediately corrected myself.
“I hate what he did.””
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I don’t know how to feel.””
“I don’t either.””
For the first time, she smiled slightly.
A tiny smile.
But I noticed it.
And something inside me broke.
Because I saw myself in her.
The way she tilted her head.
The way she tapped her fingers when she was nervous.
The way she looked away when she was trying not to cry.
My daughter.
A daughter I missed.
A daughter I couldn’t get back.
My phone rang.
Claire.
I answered.
Her voice was frantic.
“Ethan.””
“What happened?””
“Mark contacted me.””
My body went tense.
“What did he say?””
“He wants to meet.””
“Where?””
She hesitated.
“He said he has proof.””
“Proof of what?””
A pause.
Then:
“Proof that Emma isn’t your daughter either.””
I looked at Emma.
Her face went pale.
“What?””
Claire continued:
“He said the hospital records were fake.””
My heart sank.
“Where is he?””
“He gave me an address.””
I stood.
“Send it.””
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.
I looked at the location.
An abandoned warehouse outside the city.
Emma saw my expression.
“What is it?””
I looked at her.
“Your uncle wants to talk.””
She stood.
“I’m coming.””
“No.””
“Yes.””
“Emma—”
“No.””
Her voice was stronger than I expected.
“I spent my whole life hearing his version of the story.””
May you like
She picked up her backpack.
“Now I want to hear yours.””
