Dad was awake when I reached the hospital.
Maya was already there.
She stood beside his bed with a folder in her hands.
Dad looked from her to me.
“Where is Jessica?”
“She isn't here.”
His shoulders relaxed.
“Good.”
“You knew she would find out.”
“I knew she eventually would.”
“You should have told me.”
“I tried.”
“No. You gave me pieces.”
He looked at the ceiling.
“Sometimes pieces are all a man has.”
I moved closer.
“Who was the second child?”
His eyes closed.
Maya lowered her head.
Dad whispered, “She found the letter.”
“Jessica?”
“Yes.”
“Her father wrote that there were two children in the house.”
Dad was silent.
Then he said, “There were.”
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“Your sister.”
I couldn't speak.
Maya watched me carefully.
“What sister?”
Dad swallowed.
“Her name was Claire.”
I sat down.
The room seemed suddenly too small.
“My sister?”
“She was born eighteen months before you.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because she was gone before you were born.”
“Gone where?”
Dad looked toward Maya.
She opened the folder.
“Arthur has spent decades trying to locate her.”
I stared at him.
“What happened?”
“Your mother had a daughter before she met me.”
“Claire wasn't yours?”
“No.”
“But she was my sister.”
“Yes.”
“Who was her father?”
Dad hesitated.
“Victor's younger brother.”
I looked at Maya.
She nodded.
“His name was Daniel Morales.”
“Why did he matter?”
“Because Daniel died under suspicious circumstances shortly before Elena disappeared.”
Dad's breathing became shallow.
“He loved Elena,” he said. “Victor hated him for it.”
“So Claire was a Morales.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor wanted her too?”
“Victor wanted control of everything connected to Elena.”
I looked at the papers.
“What happened to Claire?”
Dad stared at his hands.
“Elena hid her.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“Not at first.”
“Then how did you find out she existed?”
“After the fire.”
He explained that Elena had kept Claire's existence hidden from Victor because she feared he would use the child as leverage.
When Elena believed the fire was inevitable, she sent Claire away with a trusted woman.
That woman disappeared afterward.
So did Claire.
For decades, no reliable record existed.
“What did the DNA test show?”
Dad looked at me.
“Claire is alive.”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know?”
“The test wasn't yours.”
He paused.
“It was hers.”
“Who gave you the sample?”
Dad's expression changed.
“Your wife.”
I stared at him.
“Jessica?”
“She gave me a sample without knowing what it would prove.”
“How?”
“She left something in the house.”
“A hair?”
He nodded.
I stood.
“You tested Jessica?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Dad looked at Maya.
She answered.
“Jessica isn't Claire.”
I felt almost dizzy.
“Then whose sample?”
Dad said, “Her mother.”
“Her mother?”
“Samuel Bennett had kept old personal items from the Morales family.”
Maya opened another folder.
“One of those items contained biological material connected to Elena.”
I looked at Dad.
“You compared it with the sample you had.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She is your mother.”
The room went silent.
I knew that already.
But hearing it from a DNA report made it concrete.
“Elena is alive?”
Dad hesitated.
“According to the last information I had.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
I stared at him.
“You knew she was alive six months ago?”
“I suspected.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Then where is she?”
Dad looked at Maya.
Maya said, “We have a location.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where?”
“Southern Oregon.”
“Why haven't you contacted her?”
“Because Arthur wanted proof before exposing you.”
“And now?”
“Now she wants to see you.”
The words broke something open in me.
My mother wanted to see me.
After thirty-three years.
I sat beside Dad.
“Does she know who I am?”
“She has always known.”
I looked down.
“Does she know I'm married?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know about Jessica?”
“She knows about Victoria.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“Someone told her.”
“Who?”
Maya looked at Dad.
He answered.
“Claire.”
My head came up.
“Claire is alive?”
“Yes.”
“You said she was missing.”
“She was.”
“And now?”
“We found her.”
“Where?”
Dad reached beneath his pillow.
He pulled out a photograph.
A woman stood in front of a small bookstore.
Mid-thirties.
Dark hair.
A faint crescent-shaped mark beneath her left ear.
The same mark I carried.
The same mark I had seen in the childhood photograph.
I touched the picture.
“Claire.”
Dad nodded.
“She found us first.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she was frightened.”
“Of what?”
“Victor.”
“He's dead.”
“His people aren't.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Where is she now?”
Maya said, “Safe.”
“Where?”
“We moved her after someone broke into her apartment.”
I looked at Dad.
“Was it Jessica?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“We don't know.”
The hospital door opened.
A nurse stepped in.
“Mr. Hayes, you have a visitor.”
I turned.
A woman stood behind her.
She had dark hair pulled loosely behind her ears.
Her eyes were red.
She looked at me.
I knew immediately.
Not because I had seen her photograph.
Because she looked like my mother.
She whispered my name.
“Ethan.”
I couldn't move.
Dad began to cry.
The woman took one step inside.
“My name is Claire.”
I stood.
She covered her mouth.
“I've wanted to meet you for years.”
I didn't know what to say.
So I said the first thing that came to me.
“Do you remember Mom?”
Claire nodded.
“She never stopped talking about you.”
“Where is she?”
Claire looked at Maya.
Then back at me.
“She wants to come home.”
The word home almost broke me.
“What stopped her?”
“Fear.”
“Of Victor?”
“Of everyone who wanted what belonged to you.”
I looked toward Dad.
“Tell me the truth.”
He nodded.
Claire sat beside me.
“She didn't abandon us.”
“I know.”
“She stayed away because she thought that was the only way to keep us alive.”
I looked at my sister.
“Why didn't you come sooner?”
“I didn't know where you were.”
“Dad knew.”
“He knew your location.”
“Why didn't he tell you?”
“He didn't know if you were safe.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Claire reached into her bag.
She pulled out an old envelope.
“This is why.”
Inside was a photocopy of a trust document.
My name was listed as primary beneficiary.
Claire's name appeared below it.
And beneath both names was another condition.
If either beneficiary dies before age forty, control transfers to the surviving beneficiary.
I read it twice.
Claire watched me.
“I was the leverage.”
“Against Mom?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Against you.”
I looked at Maya.
“What happens when I turn forty?”
“Your control becomes permanent.”
I looked at the date.
Three years.
Jessica knew.
Victoria knew.
Someone else knew.
And suddenly the entire marriage felt like a clock counting down toward something I had never been allowed to see.
My phone rang.
Jessica.
I answered.
She didn't speak for several seconds.
Then she said, “You're with Claire.”
I looked at my sister.
“How do you know?”
“I know because someone is outside the hospital.”
My body went cold.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Lock the doors.”
“I already did.”
“Don't leave.”
She whispered, “Ethan, listen to me.”
“What?”
“I found something in your father's house.”
“What?”
“A photograph of your mother.”
“So?”
“It was taken yesterday.”
I looked at Claire.
She had gone pale.
“That's impossible.”
Jessica said, “That's what I thought.”
The call ended.
Dad's face had lost all color.
Maya closed the blinds.
Claire whispered, “She's back.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART7: The Photograph Taken Yesterday Exposed the Person Behind the Break-Ins, and My Wife Finally Told Me Why She Had Married Me
The Thousand-Dollar Request That Should Have Been Ordinary Became the First Sign That Someone Was Hiding the Truth From Me
Part 6 of 8
