Chapter 2 - THE OFFICE
I waited until I heard Daniel walk away.
Then I unlocked the bathroom door.
I didn't tell him about the photograph.
I didn't tell him about the man in the window.
And I definitely didn't tell him about the message.
I carried my son into the bedroom and locked the bedroom door behind me.
Daniel stood in the hallway.
“Emma?”
“Don't come in.”
He stopped.
“Can I at least check the baby?”
“No.”
His face tightened.
“You think I'm going to hurt him?”
“I don't know what to think anymore.”
That silenced him.
His mother was downstairs.
I could hear her speaking loudly on the phone.
She sounded calm.
Too calm.
I placed my son in his bassinet.
Then I opened my closet.
Daniel's office was across the hallway.
I had been inside it hundreds of times.
Tonight, it looked different.
Like a room I had never actually seen.
I waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
When I finally heard the front door close, I stepped into the hallway.
“Where's Mom?” Daniel asked.
“Outside.”
“She left?”
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
I walked toward the office.
“Emma, wait.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Don't go in there.”
My heart sank.
“Why?”
“Because there's nothing there.”
That was the wrong answer.
If there was nothing there, he wouldn't have needed to warn me.
I opened the door.
Daniel grabbed my wrist.
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.”
He released me immediately.
I stepped inside.
His office smelled like coffee and paper.
Everything appeared normal.
Desk.
Laptop.
Filing cabinet.
Printer.
Bookshelf.
A framed photograph of us from our wedding.
I stared at the photograph.
Daniel and I were smiling.
Neither of us knew that our marriage would eventually become a crime scene.
I went to the desk.
“Emma.”
“Stay back.”
I opened the top drawer.
Nothing.
Second drawer.
Receipts.
Pens.
Old contracts.
Third drawer.
Locked.
I looked at Daniel.
“What is this?”
“It's just personal paperwork.”
“Open it.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Open it.”
He didn't move.
I stepped toward the drawer.
Daniel blocked me.
“You need to calm down.”
I laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
“You dragged me across the floor tonight.”
“I know.”
“Your mother assaulted my newborn.”
“I know.”
“She secretly collected DNA from my child.”
“I know.”
“And now there's a locked drawer in your office.”
His jaw tightened.
“It's not what you think.”
“Then show me.”
He looked away.
That was enough.
I grabbed the key from the ceramic bowl on his desk.
His eyes widened.
“Emma—”
I unlocked the drawer.
Inside was a thick brown envelope.
No name.
No return address.
I opened it.
The first page was a laboratory report.
My eyes scanned the heading.
PATERNITY ANALYSIS.
I felt a strange relief.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe the truth really was as simple as his mother being paranoid.
Then I saw the names.
Mother:
EMMA CARTER.
Child:
NOAH CARTER.
Alleged Father:
DANIEL CARTER.
My hands trembled.
I flipped the page.
The probability of paternity was listed.
99.99%.
I stared at the number.
Daniel was Noah's father.
I almost laughed.
Then I saw the date.
The test had been completed two weeks before Noah was born.
I stopped breathing.
Two weeks.
Before his birth.
That was impossible.
Unless...
I looked at Daniel.
“What is this?”
He went pale.
“I can explain.”
“No.”
I flipped through the report.
There were additional genetic markers.
Maternal.
Paternal.
Ancestry.
Health screening.
Carrier status.
This wasn't just a paternity test.
Someone had ordered a comprehensive genetic analysis.
And the report wasn't for Noah.
It was for me.
My name appeared at the top of another document.
I read the first line.
GENETIC RISK ASSESSMENT.
My hands began shaking.
“Why would your mother test me?”
Daniel said nothing.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
He looked exhausted.
“Emma, listen to me.”
“No. You listen.”
I held up the report.
“Your mother has been collecting my DNA for months.”
“I know.”
My heart stopped.
“You know?”
He closed his eyes.
“When?”
“Before Noah was born.”
“How long?”
“I found out six weeks ago.”
I stared at him.
Six weeks.
He had known for six weeks.
And said nothing.
“Why?”
“Because Mom threatened me.”
“With what?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“With what, Daniel?”
His voice broke.
“She said if I told you, she'd destroy us.”
“Destroy us how?”
“She has documents.”
“What documents?”
He looked at the floor.
“Your adoption records.”
Everything inside me went still.
“I was never adopted.”
Daniel looked up.
“Yes, you were.”
The room spun.
“No.”
“Your mother isn't your biological mother.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“She raised you.”
“Stop.”
“But she isn't your biological mother.”
I shook my head.
“My parents are my parents.”
Daniel whispered, “That's what everyone told you.”
Then he reached for another envelope.
I didn't take it.
“What is that?”
“Your original birth certificate.”
I stared at him.
“Why does your mother have it?”
His face was filled with something I had never seen before.
Fear.
“Because she wasn't supposed to have it.”
I opened the envelope.
And saw a name I had never seen in my life.
MOTHER:
CLAIRE WHITMORE.
I dropped the paper.
May you like
My husband whispered,
“Your real mother disappeared twenty-eight years ago.”
