Chapter 6: The Secret in My Birth Certificate
Nobody spoke.
For several seconds, the only sound in the apartment was the hum of the refrigerator.
I looked at my father.
“Say that again.””
Dad's lips parted.
“He said your mother never died in the accident.””
“But I saw her body.””
Dad flinched.
“I know.””
“I went to the funeral.””
“I know.””
“I watched them lower the casket.””
“I know.””
“Then what is he talking about?””
Dad looked at Natalie.
She slowly shook her head.
“I don't know.””
I grabbed the birth record.
The name beneath *Father* stared back at me.
*Daniel Whitmore.*
Carter's grandfather.
The founder of the Whitmore family trust.
My hands began trembling.
“That can't be real.””
Dad didn't answer.
“Dad.””
He sat down.
“I didn't know.””
“You're my father.””
“Yes.””
“Then why isn't your name here?””
“I don't know.””
I stared at him.
“You don't know?””
He looked toward the floor.
“When you were born, your mother told me you were mine.””
“And you believed her.””
“Yes.””
“Why wouldn't you?””
“Because I loved her.””
His voice cracked.
I sat down.
Everything I thought I knew about my childhood was collapsing around me.
“My whole life…”
Dad wiped his eyes.
“Your mother loved you.””
“Then why did she hide this?””
“I don't know.””
Natalie stepped closer.
“Maybe she didn't.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“Maybe the birth certificate was changed.””
Dad looked up.
“By whom?””
“Someone with access to vital records.””
I shook my head.
“This is insane.””
Natalie opened the laptop again.
“Look at the date.””
I did.
The birth record had been amended seven years after my birth.
Seven years.
My mother had still been alive.
I stared.
“Why would she change it?””
Natalie pointed to another document.
“She didn't.””
I leaned closer.
“The amendment was requested by…”
Natalie stopped.
“By whom?””
She turned the screen.
*Daniel Whitmore.*
My blood ran cold.
“Carter's grandfather changed my birth certificate?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“We don't know.””
Dad stood.
“We need to leave.””
“Why?””
“Because if Daniel Whitmore altered her records, this is bigger than Carter.””
Natalie closed the laptop.
“He died eight years ago.””
Dad froze.
I looked at him.
“What?””
Natalie nodded.
“Daniel Whitmore died eight years ago.””
“Then who could have submitted the amendment?””
Nobody answered.
My phone buzzed.
A text.
*You finally found it.*
Unknown number.
Another message appeared.
*Now find your mother.*
My heart stopped.
I called the number.
It went straight to voicemail.
Then my phone rang.
Carter.
I answered.
“What do you want?””
His voice was quiet.
“Where are you?””
“Why?””
“Mara, listen to me.””
“No.””
“You need to come home.””
“You hit me.””
“I know.””
“And you lied to me.””
“I know.””
“You've been investigating my mother.””
Silence.
Then Carter said, “Who told you that?””
I laughed bitterly.
“So it's true.””
“Mara—”
“You knew.””
“Yes.””
The admission stunned me.
“You knew about my mother?””
“Yes.””
“How long?””
“Since before we married.””
My chest tightened.
“Why?””
“I was trying to find the truth.””
“You were spying on me.””
“I was protecting you.””
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
“Mara, please.””
“No.””
His voice became urgent.
“Listen carefully. My family isn't trying to take your baby.””
“Then why the custody documents?””
“Because they're afraid of what the baby will inherit.””
I froze.
“What does that mean?””
“Your child is the legal descendant of the Whitmore trust.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Because of Daniel?””
“Yes.””
“And my birth certificate?””
“That was supposed to stay buried.””
“Why?””
Carter hesitated.
Then whispered, “Because your mother stole something from my grandfather.””
“What?””
“The original trust document.””
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at me.
“Where is it?””
“I don't know.””
“You do.””
“I don't.””
“Mara, your mother left it with you.””
I felt dizzy.
“She never gave me anything.””
“She did.””
“What?””
“A music box.””
My heart stopped.
I knew exactly what he meant.
The small wooden music box that had belonged to my mother.
I'd had it since I was seventeen.
It was the one thing I had taken from her house after the funeral.
I had kept it in a storage box for years.
I hadn't opened it since moving into Carter's house.
Carter continued.
“There's a compartment underneath.””
“How do you know?””
“My grandfather told my father.””
“And your father told you?””
“No.””
“Then who?””
Carter's voice dropped.
“Your mother.””
I couldn't breathe.
“What?””
“She contacted me six months before the accident.””
My knees weakened.
Dad caught my arm.
“Carter,” I whispered, “my mother died eleven years ago.””
“I know.””
“You said she contacted you.””
“She did.””
“When?””
“Six months before she disappeared.””
“Disappeared?””
Carter went silent.
I felt a chill move through me.
“You said accident.””
“I said that's what everyone believed.””
“Carter…”
“I didn't know she was alive until last month.””
My heart hammered.
“Where is she?””
“I don't know.””
“Then how do you know she's alive?””
“Because she sent me a letter.””
“When?””
“Three weeks ago.””
“What did it say?””
Carter breathed heavily.
“She said if anything happened to you, I was to protect the baby.””
I closed my eyes.
The room blurred.
“Then why did you hit me?””
“I was trying to scare you into leaving.””
“You could have killed my baby.””
“I know.””
“You filed for divorce.””
“Because my family was watching.””
“You called me unstable.””
“Because that's what they needed to believe.””
“You let your mother humiliate me.””
“I thought I could keep you safe if you stayed under their control.””
I almost couldn't believe him.
“You call that safe?””
“No.””
His voice broke.
“I call it the worst mistake I've ever made.””
I looked at Dad.
He shook his head.
“Don't trust him.””
Carter heard him.
“Mr. Hayes, I understand why you hate me.””
“You haven't heard the worst of it.””
“I know.””
“What?””
Carter said, “I wasn't the one who requested the paternity test.””
I froze.
“Then who was?””
“The same person who changed Mara's birth certificate.””
“Daniel Whitmore?””
“No.””
“Who?””
Carter hesitated.
Then said a name that made my father stagger backward.
“Evelyn Hayes.””
I stared at him.
“My mother?””
“Yes.””
“But she's dead.””
“No.””
Carter's voice was barely audible.
“She isn't.””
The call ended.
I looked at the music box sitting on my father's kitchen table.
For eleven years, I had believed it held nothing but a broken melody.
I picked it up.
Turned it over.
And noticed, for the first time, a tiny brass latch underneath.
My thumb touched it.
The compartment clicked open.
Inside was a folded photograph.
And a note written in my mother's handwriting.
*Mara, if you're reading this, Carter has finally told you the truth.*
I unfolded the photograph.
My mother was standing beside a man.
A man I had never seen before.
Except I had.
I had seen him every morning of my life.
Because the photograph was of my father.
But the man beside my mother wasn't him.
It was *Daniel Whitmore*.
May you like
And on the back, in my mother's handwriting, were four words:
*Your father knows everything.*
