Chapter 3: The Woman Who Stole Two Families
Nobody moved.
For several seconds, the only sound was the wind moving through the trees.
Michael stared at Victoria like he had never seen her before.
“My mother?””
Victoria wiped her tears.
“Michael, please.””
“No.””
His voice was broken.
“No, you don’t get to say please.””
Claire stepped backward.
“I need to understand what is happening.””
Nobody answered her.
Because everyone was looking at Victoria.
The woman who had spent years controlling every conversation.
The woman who had decided which letters Michael received.
The woman who had convinced him I was the enemy.
The woman who had hidden the DNA results.
Michael held the paper.
“When did you know?””
Victoria looked down.
“Years ago.””
“How many years?””
Silence.
“Mom.””
Her shoulders dropped.
“Seven.””
I felt cold.
Seven years.
The same amount of time she had hidden my letters.
The same amount of time Daniel had grown up without his father.
“You knew for seven years?”” Michael asked.
Victoria nodded.
“I found the old records after your father died.””
Michael’s expression hardened.
“Records of what?””
Victoria looked at him.
“The hospital.””
Nobody spoke.
She continued.
“When I gave birth to you, there was a mistake.””
Michael shook his head.
“That doesn’t explain why you hid letters from Emily.””
Victoria looked at me.
“Because I was afraid.””
“Afraid of what?””
“That you would leave me.””
Michael stared.
“You destroyed my marriage because you were afraid I would learn the truth?””
Victoria’s silence answered him.
I watched my son.
He looked small standing among all those adults.
But he was also the person who had forced the truth into the open.
Michael walked toward him.
“Daniel.””
My son looked up.
“I’m sorry.””
Daniel frowned.
“For what?””
Michael’s eyes filled.
“For believing people who hurt you.””
That sentence broke something inside me.
Because I had waited years to hear him admit that.
Daniel hugged him.
And for one moment, the anger disappeared.
Then Michael looked at me.
“I need to talk to you.””
I nodded.
We stepped away from the crowd.
“I should have believed you,” he said.
“Yes.””
“I should have searched for answers.””
“Yes.””
“I was wrong.””
The apology was painful because it came years too late.
But before I could answer, Daniel ran toward us.
“Mom!””
He was holding something.
Another envelope.
“Where did you get that?”” I asked.
He pointed toward Victoria.
“She dropped it.””
My heart stopped.
The envelope was old.
Older than the letters.
On the front was a name.
Not Michael.
Not mine.
A name I had never heard before.
*Elizabeth Carter.*
Michael saw it and froze.
“Where did you find that?””
Daniel looked confused.
“In Grandma’s bag.””
Victoria rushed toward him.
“No!””
Everyone turned.
It was the first time she had lost control.
Michael took the envelope from Daniel.
“Who is Elizabeth Carter?””
Victoria didn’t answer.
Michael opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman holding a newborn baby.
On the back of the picture were handwritten words:
My son deserves to know where he came from.
Michael stared at the photo.
Then he looked at Victoria.
“You stole my identity.””
Victoria shook her head.
“I saved your life.””
“No.””
Michael held up the picture.
“You stole someone else’s.””
I looked at the photo.
The baby looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Then Michael turned the picture over again.
His face went completely white.
Because underneath the message was another line.
A line written years ago.
May you like
A line that connected everything.
*The baby in this photo is Daniel’s grandfather.*
