PART 4 — THE NAME MY MOTHER ERASED
The first name written inside wasn’t hers.
It was mine.
Not Sydney Carter.
Not the name I had written on school papers for as long as I could remember.
The document said:
SYDNEY ELIZABETH MERCER
I stared at it.
For a few seconds, my brain refused to understand what my eyes were seeing.
“Mercer?”
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
Thomas closed his eyes.
My mother didn’t move.
I looked at her.
“Why does this say Mercer?”
“Sydney—”
“Why does it say Mercer?”
Her face crumpled.
Thomas stepped inside.
Denise remained near the doorway, watching everything carefully.
Mrs. Alvarez stood behind her with one hand pressed against her chest.
I looked back at the document.
There were several pages folded together.
The first appeared official.
There were signatures.
Dates.
A stamp.
And my mother’s name.
CLAIRE CARTER.
Below hers was another name.
DANIEL MERCER.
I stopped breathing.
“Who is Daniel Mercer?”
My mother whispered, “Don’t.”
Thomas looked at her.
“She deserves the truth.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You decided eleven years ago. And this is what your decision became.”
I stared between them.
“WHO IS DANIEL MERCER?”
Everyone went silent.
Thomas finally looked at me.
“He’s your father.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I actually grabbed the edge of the small table beside the door.
“No.”
My mother took a step toward me.
“Sydney, listen to me—”
I backed away.
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You told me my father was dead.”
Her face went white.
I remembered every version of the story.
My father had died before I could remember him.
There had been an accident.
It was too painful for Mom to discuss.
We didn’t have photographs because she’d packed everything away.
Whenever I asked questions, she became quiet.
Whenever I asked where the pictures were, she told me grief made people do strange things.
Once, when I was eight, I had asked where he was buried.
She had hugged me and said:
“Some graves are better left alone.”
I believed her.
Children believe the people raising them because what other choice do they have?
I looked at Thomas.
“Is he alive?”
Thomas didn’t answer immediately.
That hesitation terrified me.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
One word.
One word destroyed eleven years.
I turned toward my mother.
“You told me he was dead.”
“I had reasons.”
“You told me he was DEAD.”
“I was protecting you!”
“From what?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Thomas answered.
“From losing control of you.”
My mother spun toward him.
“Shut up.”
“Claire.”
“Shut up!”
I’d never heard her scream like that.
Denise stepped forward.
“Everyone needs to lower their voices.”
My mother pointed toward Thomas.
“He has no business being here.”
Thomas calmly placed his briefcase on the entry table.
“Actually, I do.”
He looked at me.
“My full name is Thomas Mercer.”
Mercer.
The same name on my document.
I stared at him.
“Are you related to Daniel?”
His expression softened.
“I’m his older brother.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Thomas Mercer was my uncle.
I had an uncle.
I had a father.
I had an entire piece of my family that had apparently existed somewhere outside the walls of that house while my mother told me they were gone.
“Where is he?”
My mother immediately said, “Sydney, no.”
I ignored her.
“Where is my father?”
Thomas looked at my mother.
Then back at me.
“About forty minutes from here.”
Forty minutes.
Not another country.
Not another state.
Forty minutes.
I felt sick.
“For eleven years?”
“No.”
Thomas shook his head.
“He moved closer six years ago.”
Six years.
I started calculating without meaning to.
When I was five.
All those birthdays.
Christmas mornings.
School plays.
Parent conferences.
The father I’d mourned had been forty minutes away.
“Did he know where I was?”
Thomas hesitated.
My mother whispered, “Don’t.”
That told me the answer before Thomas did.
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
She started crying again.
“Let me explain.”
I couldn’t even recognize her anymore.
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he lived nearby.”
“Yes.”
“And you told me he was dead.”
“I thought it was best.”
“For who?”
She didn’t answer.
“For me?”
Nothing.
“Or for you?”
Her silence was an answer.
I looked down at the papers.
My hands were trembling so badly the pages rattled.
“What is the agreement?”
Thomas pointed gently toward the second page.
“Read paragraph four.”
I found it.
The legal language was difficult.
But one section had been underlined.
I read it slowly.
The agreement had been signed when I was still a baby.
My mother would retain primary custody.
Daniel would remain out of direct contact temporarily.
But there were conditions.
Lots of them.
She was required to maintain a safe home.
She couldn’t leave me without appropriate adult supervision.
She had to notify an attorney if she planned to leave the country without me for more than seventy-two hours.
And there was another condition.
One that made my stomach twist.
If she failed to provide appropriate care or knowingly placed me in danger, Daniel could petition immediately for custody.
I looked at Thomas.
“Why would my father agree not to see me?”
Thomas exhaled.
“That’s complicated.”
“Make it uncomplicated.”
For the first time, something almost like pride flickered across his face.
“You sound like your father.”
My mother’s head dropped.
Thomas continued.
“Daniel was twenty-three when you were born.”
I waited.
“He had very little money. Your mother had family support, a home, and resources he didn’t have.”
My mother interrupted.
“That’s not the whole story.”
“I know.”
Thomas looked at her.
“I’m getting there.”
Then he turned back to me.
“Your parents’ relationship was bad toward the end.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that both of them made mistakes.”
That answer surprised me.
Thomas wasn’t pretending his brother had been perfect.
“Daniel had a temper when he was younger,” he continued. “He never hurt you, and as far as I know he never physically hurt your mother. But he yelled. He punched walls. He made threats he later regretted.”
My mother folded her arms.
“You weren’t there for all of it.”
“No,” Thomas said. “I wasn’t.”
Then he looked at me.
“And your mother had every right to be concerned.”
I glanced at her.
For one second, something shifted.
This wasn’t going to be a simple story where one parent was an angel and the other was a monster.
It was messier.
Which somehow made it feel more frightening.
“So what happened?”
Thomas continued.
“Daniel entered anger-management counseling voluntarily. He got a steady job. He stopped drinking.”
My mother laughed bitterly.
“Eventually.”
“Yes. Eventually.”
Thomas didn’t argue.
“But by then, Claire wanted full custody.”
“And he agreed?”
“Not exactly.”
Thomas looked down.
“There was going to be a custody fight.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Then why wasn’t there?”
My mother suddenly said, “Because I made him understand that fighting would hurt you.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
“Tell her the rest.”
My mother looked away.
“What rest?”
“Claire.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Thomas opened his briefcase again.
He removed another document.
This one looked older.
He held it toward me.
My mother moved instantly.
“No.”
Thomas pulled it back before she could grab it.
“That’s enough!”
Denise stepped between them.
“Ma’am.”
“You don’t understand!”
“Then explain.”
My mother’s face twisted.
She looked at me.
For the first time, she seemed ashamed.
Not afraid of being caught.
Ashamed.
“I was desperate.”
Thomas said nothing.
She swallowed.
“Your father wanted shared custody.”
I waited.
“I couldn’t stand the thought of handing my baby over to him.”
“So?”
“I told him if he fought me…”
She stopped.
“If he fought you, what?”
Tears slid down her cheeks.
“I would move.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
Thomas answered for her.
“She threatened to disappear with you.”
My stomach dropped.
“She said if Daniel took the custody case to court, she would leave the state before the hearing.”
My mother shook her head.
“I was scared.”
Thomas continued.
“And Daniel believed her.”
“So he gave up?”
“No.”
Thomas’s voice became softer.
“He made a deal.”
I looked down at the agreement again.
The pieces started fitting together.
“He stayed away.”
“Yes.”
“So I could stay here.”
“Yes.”
“And Mom promised to keep me safe.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
Thirty days.
Twenty dollars.
An empty refrigerator.
A chair under my bedroom doorknob.
Suddenly that paper I’d made didn’t seem childish at all.
It was evidence.
Without knowing it, I had documented the exact thing the agreement said could never happen.
My mother seemed to realize that at the same moment.
Her eyes moved toward my pocket.
Toward the folded thirty-day record.
“You planned this,” she whispered to Thomas.
Thomas looked genuinely confused.
“What?”
“You’ve been waiting for me to make one mistake.”
“One mistake?”
Her expression hardened.
“You wanted Sydney.”
“Daniel wanted his daughter.”
“You were watching us.”
“No.”
“Then how did you get here so quickly?”
That question changed the room.
Thomas didn’t answer.
My mother noticed.
“So you were watching.”
“No.”
“Then who called you?”
Thomas looked toward Mrs. Alvarez.
She shook her head.
“I didn’t.”
Denise frowned.
“I didn’t contact him.”
Everyone became still.
I looked at Thomas.
“Who called you?”
His eyes met mine.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I received a call this afternoon.”
“From who?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“He wouldn’t give his name.”
My mother looked suddenly frightened.
“What did he say?”
Thomas hesitated.
“He told me Claire had left Sydney alone for nearly a month.”
The color disappeared from my mother’s face.
“And?”
Thomas stared at her.
“He told me I should come before she returned.”
My mother whispered, “Before I returned?”
“Yes.”
“But you arrived after me.”
“My flight was delayed.”
“Flight?”
I looked at him.
“You don’t live here?”
“Not anymore.”
“Where?”
“Denver.”
“Then why did you say Dad lives forty minutes away?”
Thomas went silent.
My heartbeat changed.
Something wasn’t right.
“Thomas?”
He looked toward the floor.
“Your father isn’t at his house.”
My mother suddenly seemed to forget Denise was even there.
“What does that mean?”
Thomas’s face tightened.
“He hasn’t been home for three days.”
I stared at him.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
My mother’s voice became sharp.
“What happened?”
“I’ve been trying to find out.”
Thomas pulled out his phone.
“Daniel called me three nights ago.”
“What did he say?”
“Almost nothing.”
Thomas unlocked the screen.
“He sounded nervous.”
My mother whispered, “Daniel doesn’t get nervous.”
Thomas looked at her.
“Exactly.”
He tapped the screen.
Then he played a voicemail.
Static filled the hallway.
A man’s breathing.
Then a voice.
My father’s voice.
The first time I had ever heard him.
“Tom… if you get this, something’s wrong.”
My entire body went cold.
The recording continued.
“Don’t call Claire.”
My mother flinched.
“Don’t call Sydney either. Not yet.”
I stared at the phone.
My father knew my name.
Of course he knew my name.
But hearing him say it was different.
Then his voice became quieter.
“There are things Sydney doesn’t know.”
A pause.
“And things Claire doesn’t know either.”
My mother stepped closer.
“What things?”
Thomas raised one finger.
The voicemail continued.
“I found the old account.”
My mother’s expression changed instantly.
Thomas noticed.
So did I.
The recording crackled.
“The money wasn’t gone, Tom.”
My mother whispered, “Oh my God.”
Thomas looked at her.
“You know what he’s talking about.”
She didn’t answer.
My father’s voice continued.
“Someone’s been moving it.”
Static.
“I thought it was Claire.”
My mother’s eyes widened.
“But I was wrong.”
Another pause.
Then:
“If anything happens to me, look inside the house.”
The voicemail ended.
Nobody spoke.
Thomas lowered the phone.
My mother looked genuinely terrified now.
“What old account?”
I asked.
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“It’s adult business.”
I couldn’t believe she’d said it.
After everything.
“Adult business?”
“Sydney—”
“I spent a month finding my own food.”
She closed her eyes.
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because I KNOW!”
Her scream made everyone freeze.
She covered her mouth.
Then she began crying.
Not the controlled tears from earlier.
She folded.
Her shoulders shook.
“I know.”
I stared at her.
“I know what I did.”
Her voice broke.
“I knew after the first week.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Thomas stared at her.
Mrs. Alvarez whispered, “Claire…”
My mother looked at me.
And suddenly the secret about my father wasn’t the worst thing she’d hidden.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
“How?”
“I checked the security camera.”
The hallway went silent.
I felt something inside me go numb.
“You watched me?”
“Not constantly.”
“When?”
“The seventh day.”
I remembered Day 7.
Nothing until dinner.
I remembered sitting on the kitchen floor drinking water because it made my stomach feel full.
“You saw me?”
She covered her face.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t come home?”
“I told myself you were okay.”
“You saw me hungry.”
“I didn’t know you hadn’t eaten.”
“You could have called!”
“I know.”
“You could have ordered groceries!”
“I KNOW!”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Her hands dropped.
And the answer she gave was so small that I almost didn’t hear it.
“Because I didn’t want to ruin the trip.”
Nobody moved.
Even Denise seemed stunned.
My mother looked at me.
“I kept thinking I’d fix it tomorrow.”
My eyes burned.
“Thirty tomorrows?”
She started sobbing.
I stepped backward.
Suddenly I didn’t want her touching me.
I didn’t even want to be in the same room.
Denise seemed to sense it.
“Sydney, would you like to sit somewhere else?”
I nodded.
But before I could move, Thomas’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
“Who is it?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
He walked toward the living room and accepted the call.
“Hello?”
We listened.
Thomas’s expression became harder with every second.
“Where?”
A pause.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Is he alive?”
My chest tightened.
My mother grabbed the wall.
Thomas turned away.
“I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
“Thomas?”
He looked at me.
I had never seen someone struggle so hard to choose their next words.
“They found your father.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“Where?”
“In his car.”
My mother gasped.
“Where?”
“Near the old Mercer property.”
“Is he alive?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Yes.”
My knees almost buckled.
“But he’s unconscious.”
My mother whispered, “Hospital?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
I didn’t think.
“I want to go.”
“No,” my mother said immediately.
I turned toward her.
She stopped.
Maybe she finally realized she had used up the right to make that decision without explanation.
Denise spoke.
“Sydney isn’t going anywhere until we’ve established an appropriate temporary care arrangement.”
Thomas nodded.
“Understood.”
Then he looked at me.
“I’ll go.”
“Will you tell him about me?”
His eyes softened.
“He already knows about you.”
“I mean tell him I’m here.”
Thomas swallowed.
“Yes.”
“And tell him…”
I stopped.
What could I possibly say to a father I’d believed was dead?
Tell him I wanted to meet him?
Tell him I hated him?
Tell him I didn’t know whether I hated him?
“Tell him I heard his voice.”
Thomas nodded.
“I’ll tell him.”
He picked up his briefcase.
Then my mother spoke.
“Thomas.”
He stopped.
“There is something you need to know before you go to that hospital.”
He turned.
Her face was gray.
“What?”
She looked at Denise.
Then Mrs. Alvarez.
Then me.
Whatever she was about to say, she clearly didn’t want me hearing it.
That alone meant I needed to.
“The account Daniel mentioned…”
Thomas waited.
“It wasn’t just money.”
“What do you mean?”
My mother’s hands began trembling.
“There was a safe-deposit box attached to it.”
Thomas frowned.
“What was inside?”
“I never knew.”
“Then why are you scared?”
She looked at me.
“Because Daniel’s father created it.”
“My grandfather?”
Mom nodded.
“Two weeks before he died.”
Thomas went completely still.
Apparently this was news to him too.
“What did Dad put in it?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“Who had access?”
“Daniel.”
She hesitated.
“And one other person.”
Thomas stared at her.
“Who?”
My mother didn’t answer.
“Claire.”
She whispered:
“Me.”
Thomas looked as though she’d slapped him.
“You had access to Dad’s box?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I swear.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“My father barely tolerated you.”
“I know.”
“Then why would he give you access to something Daniel didn’t even know existed?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
Her voice echoed through the house.
Then she whispered:
“I never opened it.”
Thomas stared at her.
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not once?”
“No.”
He studied her.
Then something occurred to him.
“When did you learn the box existed?”
My mother hesitated.
“Eleven years ago.”
“When exactly?”
She didn’t answer.
Thomas’s eyes narrowed.
“Before or after Sydney was born?”
My mother looked at me.
And that was when I knew.
This wasn’t about money.
Not really.
“Mom?”
She started crying again.
“Before.”
Thomas looked sick.
“How long before?”
“Two months.”
Thomas backed away.
“No.”
“What?”
He shook his head.
“No, Claire.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Neither answered.
Thomas stared at my mother.
“Dad died six weeks before Sydney was born.”
“I know.”
“So he created a private account and a safe-deposit box two weeks before he died.”
“Yes.”
“And gave access to you and Daniel.”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at me.
Then at her.
“Why would he create something specifically between the two of you right before Sydney was born?”
My mother whispered, “I don’t know.”
Thomas suddenly grabbed his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the bank.”
“At this hour?”
“Emergency trust department.”
“Thomas—”
He walked outside.
I could see him through the glass, speaking rapidly.
My mother sank onto the bottom stair.
For the first time, she looked smaller than me.
Denise sat nearby but didn’t touch her.
Mrs. Alvarez came over to me.
“You don’t have to understand everything tonight,” she whispered.
I nodded.
But I wanted to.
Because my whole life had changed in less than an hour.
My father was alive.
My uncle existed.
My mother had watched me struggle from Europe and chosen not to come home.
And somewhere there was a box my grandfather had created just before I was born.
Thomas came back inside five minutes later.
His face told me something had happened.
“The bank confirmed it.”
My mother stood.
“Confirmed what?”
“The box still exists.”
She exhaled.
“And?”
“It was accessed.”
My mother’s face changed.
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Thomas stared directly at her.
“While you were still in Europe.”
My mother whispered, “That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“Who opened it?”
“They won’t tell me over the phone.”
Thomas looked down at his screen.
“But they did confirm one thing.”
“What?”
“The person used a valid key.”
My mother stared at him.
“I’ve had my key the entire time.”
“Where?”
“In my bedroom safe.”
Everyone slowly looked toward the stairs.
My mother seemed to realize what that meant.
“No.”
She ran.
Up the staircase.
Denise called after her.
“Ma’am!”
We followed.
My mother reached her bedroom and rushed to the closet.
Behind several hanging dresses was a small wall safe.
She punched in the code.
The door opened.
She reached inside.
Then froze.
“What?” Thomas asked.
She started moving papers.
Jewelry.
Passports.
Envelopes.
Her movements became frantic.
“No.”
She emptied the safe onto the floor.
“No, no, no.”
Thomas crouched beside her.
“The key?”
She looked at him.
“Gone.”
My skin prickled.
Someone had entered our house while I was alone.
Someone who knew about a key my mother kept hidden in her bedroom safe.
I remembered Day 5.
Someone knocked after dark.
I remembered hiding upstairs.
But suddenly another memory surfaced.
Something I had never written on my thirty-day paper.
Because at the time, I’d convinced myself I’d imagined it.
“Mom.”
She looked up.
“The night someone knocked…”
Everyone became still.
“What about it?”
“I heard them leave.”
Thomas waited.
“But later…”
My mouth went dry.
“Later what, Sydney?”
“I heard something downstairs.”
My mother stared at me.
“I thought it was the house settling.”
“What did you hear?”
I looked toward her bedroom door.
“A drawer closing.”
Thomas stood immediately.
“Which drawer?”
“The kitchen.”
My mother and Thomas looked at each other.
Then we all went downstairs.
I led them to the kitchen.
“I think it came from here.”
I pointed toward the cabinet beside the refrigerator.
My mother opened it.
Nothing.
Then the drawer above it.
Utensils.
Another drawer.
Dish towels.
Thomas crouched.
He examined the cabinet frame.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
He reached behind the lowest drawer.
His fingers touched something.
He pulled.
A small wooden panel came loose.
Behind it was an empty space.
Except it wasn’t completely empty.
There was a photograph.
Thomas picked it up.
The second he saw it, his face went pale.
My mother whispered:
“Oh my God.”
I stepped closer.
The photograph showed three adults standing outside this very house.
My mother.
A much younger Thomas.
And a man I recognized even though I’d never seen him before.
Daniel.
My father.
But there was someone else in the picture.
A woman standing beside him.
She was holding a newborn baby.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.
The day after I was born.
And underneath it:
Sydney with her mother.
I stared at the words.
Then at my mother.
Claire wasn’t holding the baby.
The other woman was.
My voice disappeared.
Thomas looked at Claire.
“What is this?”
Claire backed against the counter.
I turned the photograph over again.
The handwriting was unmistakably deliberate.
Sydney with her mother.
I pointed at the woman holding the baby.
“Who is she?”
Claire shook her head.
“Please.”
“WHO IS SHE?”
Thomas was staring at the photograph like he couldn’t breathe.
Then he whispered a name.
“Emily.”
My mother closed her eyes.
I looked at him.
“Who is Emily?”
Thomas slowly raised his head.
“My sister.”
I couldn’t move.
“Your sister?”
He nodded.
“Daniel’s younger sister.”
I looked at the photograph.
Then at Claire.
Then back at the words.
Sydney with her mother.
“No.”
Claire started toward me.
I backed away.
“No.”
“Sydney—”
“No!”
Thomas looked just as confused as I was.
“Emily couldn’t have—”
Claire interrupted him.
“She did.”
Thomas froze.
“What?”
Claire was crying so hard she could barely speak.
“Emily gave birth to Sydney.”
The entire room disappeared around me.
I stared at the woman I’d called Mom for eleven years.
“You’re not my mother?”
Claire shook her head.
“Not biologically.”
My knees gave out.
Mrs. Alvarez caught me before I hit the floor.
Thomas looked horrified.
“Then Daniel isn’t—”
Claire closed her eyes.
And that unfinished sentence somehow frightened me more than anything else.
I looked at her.
“Is Daniel my father?”
Claire said nothing.
“IS HE MY FATHER?”
She opened her eyes.
“No.”
Thomas stumbled backward.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Then who is?”
Claire looked at the photograph.
At Emily.
At the baby.
At me.
“I don’t know.”
Thomas whispered, “Where is Emily?”
Claire’s face collapsed.
“She disappeared eleven years ago.”
“When?”
“The night your father died.”
Thomas stared at her.
“My father died in the hospital.”
Claire shook her head.
“No, Thomas.”
His face changed.
“What are you saying?”
“He was alive when Emily disappeared.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Claire looked toward the hidden compartment.
Then at the photograph.
“I think the answer was inside that safe-deposit box.”
Thomas whispered, “And somebody opened it yesterday.”
“Yes.”
I felt cold.
Somebody had been inside our house.
Somebody had taken the key.
Somebody had opened the box.
And that person knew things about my birth that even Thomas apparently didn’t know.
Then Denise’s phone rang downstairs.
She excused herself and answered.
Thirty seconds later, she came back into the kitchen.
Her expression was serious.
“Thomas.”
He turned.
“The hospital is asking for you.”
“What happened?”
“Daniel woke up.”
Thomas grabbed his keys.
My heart jumped.
“Can he talk?”
Denise nodded.
“Apparently he woke up asking for Sydney.”
Everyone looked at me.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“How does he know I’m here?”
Denise hesitated.
“He says he received a message.”
“What message?”
“He wouldn’t explain.”
Thomas was already heading toward the door.
Then Denise added:
“There’s something else.”
He stopped.
“Daniel told the nurse nobody is to enter his room except you and Sydney.”
My mother stood.
“Why?”
Denise looked at her.
“Because he says the person who put him in that car may come back.”
My blood went cold.
Thomas stared at me.
Then my mother’s phone buzzed on the counter.
Once.
Twice.
She looked at the screen.
Her face turned white.
“What is it?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
I took one step closer.
“Mom—”
She looked at me.
And despite everything I’d just learned, I still called her that.
Maybe habit.
Maybe fear.
Maybe because biology couldn’t erase eleven years in five minutes.
She slowly turned the phone toward us.
A text message from an unknown number filled the screen.
There was no greeting.
No explanation.
Just a photograph.
It had been taken from across the street.
It showed our house.
Tonight.
Through the kitchen window, I could see all of us standing together.
Meaning whoever sent it was outside.
Right now.
Under the photograph was one sentence:
CLAIRE SHOULD HAVE TOLD SYDNEY THE TRUTH BEFORE WE HAD TO.
Thomas rushed toward the front window.
Nobody was there.
Then another message arrived.
This one was addressed directly to me.
Sydney, Daniel is not your father.
I stared at the screen.
A second line appeared.
But he knows who is.
Then a third.
Ask him why your real father thinks you died eleven years ago.
END OF PART 4
