PART 4

I stared at the message until the words stopped looking like words.

Ask him about the night he was born.

For a moment, I wondered whether the sender meant Jason.

Then another thought struck me.

What if they meant Thomas?

I slipped the phone into my coat pocket and drove to Jason’s house.

The entire ride, my hands stayed tight around the steering wheel.

Rain had started falling over Boston, turning the streets into blurred ribbons of headlights and reflections.

Twenty-four years earlier, I had driven through rain to bring my husband home from the hospital.

Nineteen years earlier, I had driven through rain to identify his body.

And now, after all these years, I was driving through rain again because the dead man’s secrets were apparently still alive.

When I arrived at Jason’s house, his front door was already open.

“Jason?”

“Mom. I’m in the kitchen.”

I found him sitting at the table.

A cardboard box rested in front of him.

The same box his father had kept locked for years.

Jason looked exhausted.

His wedding ring was still on his finger.

His work shirt was wrinkled.

He looked like the little boy who used to wait for me outside the food truck after school.

Except now he was a grown man with a family of his own.

And I knew something about his life that he didn’t.

At least, not yet.

“Show me the letters.”

He slid the first envelope across the table.

It was old and yellowed.

My name was written across the front.

Eleanor Parker.

I recognized the handwriting immediately.

My husband’s.

I sat down.

“Where did you find this?”

“In the bottom of the box.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

I stared at him.

“Seven?”

He nodded.

“Some are addressed to you. Some to Thomas. One to Jason.”

My heart stopped.

“Your name?”

“Yes.”

I picked up the letter addressed to me.

The envelope had never been opened.

My fingers shook as I tore it.

Inside was one sheet of paper.

I read the first sentence.

Then I had to stop.

My vision blurred.

“What does it say?” Jason asked.

I couldn’t answer.

He reached for the paper.

I handed it to him.

His eyes moved across the page.

Then his face changed.

“Mom…”

I took it back.

The letter said:

Eleanor,

If you’re reading this, then I failed to tell you the truth while I was alive.

I was afraid.

Not of Thomas.

Of what Thomas knew.

My breathing became shallow.

The next line was worse.

The girls are not connected to Jason in the way everyone believes.

Jason stood.

“What girls?”

I looked at him.

He was staring at me. “What does that mean?”

I folded the letter.

“Sit down.”

“Mom.” “Please.”

He slowly sat.

I placed the letter on the table. “There are things I need to tell you.” His eyes narrowed.

“Is this about Chloe and Sophie?”

I couldn’t speak.

Jason’s face lost color.

“Mom?”

I finally nodded. He stood again.

“What happened?”

I took a deep breath.

“I had a DNA test done.”

His expression changed instantly.

“You did what?”

“I needed to know.”

“You tested my daughters?”

“I was afraid you weren’t their biological father.” He stared at me.

For several seconds, I thought he might scream.

Instead, he whispered:

“Are they?”

I nodded.

“No.”

His knees nearly gave way.

He grabbed the chair.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

He shook his head repeatedly.

“No. That’s impossible.”

“I know.”

“Emily—”

“I know.”

“Who?”

I couldn’t say it.

Jason stared at me.

“Mom, who?”

“Your uncle Thomas.”

His face went completely blank.

“What?”

“The report showed a biological connection to someone from your father’s family.”

Jason looked toward the box.

Then back at me.

“Thomas?”

I nodded.

He laughed once.

A broken, disbelieving laugh.

“Thomas has been gone for twenty years.”

“He may still be alive.”

Jason’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Then I told him everything.

The conversation with Emily.

The photograph.

The messages.

The letter.

By the time I finished, Jason was crying.

Not loudly.

Just tears running down his face.

“I raised them.”

“Yes.”

“They’re my daughters.”

“Yes.”

“I changed their diapers.”

“I know.”

“I stayed awake when they were sick.”

“I know.”

“I taught Chloe to ride a bicycle.”

“I know.”

“I held Sophie the first time she called me Daddy.” I reached across the table.

“You are their father.” He looked at me.

“But the DNA says—”

“DNA tells you biology.”

I squeezed his hand.

“It doesn’t tell you who stayed.”

Jason lowered his head.

For the first time that night, I saw something other than anger in his face.

He was grieving.

Not for the girls.

For the version of his life he thought he had.

Then he asked the question that I had been dreading.

“Does Emily love me?”

I closed my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Then why did she lie?”

“Because she was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

Before I could answer, footsteps sounded upstairs.

We both froze.

“Are the girls home?” I whispered.

Jason shook his head. “No. They’re at my sister’s.”

The footsteps continued.

One step.

Then another.

Jason stood.

“Who’s upstairs?”

“I don’t know.” He grabbed the fireplace poker.

I reached for my phone.

The footsteps stopped.

Then a voice called from above.

“Eleanor.” My blood froze.

I knew that voice.

Even after all those years.

Jason looked at me.

“Mom?”

I whispered:

“Thomas.”

We heard him walk down the stairs.

He looked older.

Much older.

His hair had gone almost completely gray.

He wore a dark coat and carried a small leather bag.

Jason stepped forward. “What are you doing here?”

Thomas looked at him.

Then at me.

“I came because I knew this day would eventually come.”

Jason’s face hardened.

“You’re the father of my daughters.”

Thomas didn’t answer.

“Say it.”

Silence.

“Say it!”

Thomas closed his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Jason laughed bitterly.

“You don’t know?”

“I never had proof.”

“We have proof.”

Thomas looked at me.

“You had the test done.”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly.

“I wondered how long it would take.”

Jason stared at him.

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

Thomas looked toward the floor.

“Since Chloe was born.”

Jason’s face twisted with pain.

“And you said nothing?”

“I was told not to.”

“By who?”

Thomas looked at me.

“Your father.”

The room went silent.

My husband.

Again.

Always my husband.

“What did he know?” I demanded.

Thomas slowly opened the leather bag.

Inside were dozens of documents.

Photographs.

Hospital records.

Letters.

And one small cassette tape.

He placed it on the table.

“Your husband discovered the truth before Chloe was born.”

I felt dizzy.

“How?”

“He suspected Emily was pregnant before the wedding.”

“Why?”

“Because he knew about me.”

Jason looked between us.

“What does that mean?” Thomas sighed.

“I had an affair with Emily.”

Jason turned away.

“I know.”

Thomas continued.

“But there was more.”

He pointed toward the documents. “Your father hired a private investigator.”

I picked up one of the reports.

The first page contained Emily’s name.

The second contained Thomas’s.

The third contained someone else’s.

I stared at the name.

Daniel Parker.

My husband.

“What did he find?”

Thomas swallowed.

“He discovered that Emily wasn’t sure who Chloe’s father was.”

Jason looked confused.

“But the DNA says—”

“Chloe is mine,” Thomas said.

“And Sophie?”

Thomas looked at him.

“I don’t know.”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

Thomas shook his head.

“That’s why the report was unusual.”

He pulled another document from the bag.

“This is the original laboratory report.”

I read it.

Then read it again.

The girls were related to the Parker family.

But the test did not establish that they shared the same father.

Jason looked at me. “What does that mean?”

Thomas answered.

“It means one of the girls is mine.”

“And the other?”

Thomas’s face became pale.

“We don’t know.”

I felt my stomach twist.

All this time, I had assumed both girls shared the same biological father.

But the truth was even more complicated.

I looked at Thomas.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

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