“…then you still don’t understand what Jonathan Hayes was really doing.”
I stared at the binder in Renee’s hands.
There were names.
So many names.
Some highlighted.
Some crossed out.
Some followed by dates.
Numbers.
Clinic codes.
Initials.
My fingers went numb.
“What is that?”
Renee looked at Jonathan.
For the first time since stepping from the SUV, he wasn’t smiling.
Two police officers held his arms behind his back.
“Renee,” he said calmly.
“Think very carefully.”
She laughed.
“You’ve been telling me to think carefully since I was seventeen.”
“Those documents don’t mean what you think.”
“They mean exactly what I think.”
She handed the binder to me.
Jonathan lunged.
“DON’T!”
The officers jerked him backward.
That reaction told me more than anything inside the binder could.
I opened the first page.
A logo appeared at the top.
Westbridge Reproductive Research Center.
I had never heard the name.
Underneath were patient numbers.
Not names.
Renee pointed.
“Keep going.”
I turned the page.
Then another.
On page four, I found something familiar.
My maiden name.
CARTER, KESHA.
Beside it:
SOURCE A-17.
My stomach twisted.
“What does Source A-17 mean?”
Renee’s voice became quiet.
“Egg source.”
I nearly dropped the binder.
Marcus stepped beside me.
“Where am I?”
Renee turned several pages.
REYNOLDS, MARCUS.
SOURCE B-09.
“Sperm source,” she said.
Marcus went pale.
I looked at Jonathan.
“You stole reproductive material from us.”
He said nothing.
“You created embryos without our consent.”
Still nothing.
“You implanted them into women.”
Jonathan finally spoke.
“You’re simplifying research you don’t understand.”
Something inside me snapped.
“RESEARCH?”
The children flinched.
I lowered my voice immediately.
Then I looked at him again.
“You don’t get to call children research.”
“They weren’t children when the project began.”
Renee stepped toward him.
“They became children.”
Jonathan looked at her.
“That wasn’t the original intention.”
My stomach turned.
“What was?”
He didn’t answer.
Renee did.
“Genetic compatibility.”
Marcus frowned.
“What?”
“Jonathan was obsessed with inherited disease.”
Jonathan’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
Renee ignored him.
“His mother died from a rare neurological disorder.”
David looked surprised.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Nobody did.”
Renee continued.
“Jonathan became convinced that conventional fertility medicine was too cautious.”
I stared at the list.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Your genetics.”
“My genetics aren’t special.”
“To him, they were.”
“Why?”
Renee looked at David.
“Because of your family.”
David frowned.
“What about us?”
“Several members of the Carter family lived unusually long lives without the condition Jonathan feared.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“So he stole my eggs because some relatives were healthy?”
“It was more complicated.”
“I don’t care how complicated it was.”
Renee nodded.
“You shouldn’t.”
Marcus pointed toward the binder.
“How many embryos?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many children?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many?”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
Her voice cracked.
The teenage boy beside her—Jacob—reached for her hand.
She held it.
“I’ve spent fifteen years trying to find out.”
Fifteen years.
I looked at Jacob.
He was older than my quadruplets.
“How old are you?”
He looked nervous.
“Fifteen.”
My chest tightened.
I turned toward Renee.
“You said Jonathan began using our genetic material years before we knew.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She looked at Patricia.
Patricia had stopped crying.
Now she looked exhausted.
Defeated.
“Patricia helped him.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Of course she did.”
Patricia shook her head.
“I didn’t know about the research.”
“You keep saying you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t!”
“You gave him access to my medical information.”
“I know.”
“You helped him change records.”
“I know.”
“You hid my children.”
“I know.”
“You moved their trust money.”
“I know.”
“And now there’s a fifteen-year-old boy standing in front of me who may be my biological son.”
Patricia covered her mouth.
Marcus stepped closer.
“What exactly DID you know?”
She whispered:
“I knew Jonathan collected samples.”
“Why?”
“He told me it was for future fertility treatment.”
“Without my consent?”
“You were young.”
Marcus stared at her.
“What does my age have to do with my right to my own body?”
Nothing.
She had no answer.
I looked at Renee.
“How did you become involved?”
Her expression changed.
“My mother.”
“Who was she?”
“Denise Carter.”
The name hit me.
My mother.
I stared at Renee.
“You’re saying you’re my sister.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Our mother had me when she was sixteen.”
“No.”
“She gave me up for adoption.”
My mind raced.
My mother had never mentioned a pregnancy before Tasha.
Not once.
“Who was your father?”
Renee looked at Jonathan.
I felt sick before she spoke.
“No.”
Jonathan said:
“Renee.”
She ignored him.
“Jonathan Hayes.”
Marcus stumbled backward.
If that was true, Renee wasn’t only my half-sister.
She was Marcus’s half-sister too.
And Tasha’s.
Jonathan had fathered children across both families.
I looked at Jacob.
Then at Marcus.
Then at Renee.
My brain refused to follow the relationships.
“Wait.”
I raised my hand.
“If Jonathan is your father…”
“Yes.”
“And Marcus is Jonathan’s son…”
“Yes.”
“Then Marcus is your half-brother.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me you carried an embryo created from Marcus and me?”
Renee’s eyes filled with tears.
“I didn’t know.”
The horror in her voice stopped my anger.
“How could you not know?”
“I was seventeen.”
She wiped her face.
“I grew up in foster care. I had aged out of one placement and was sleeping on a friend’s couch.”
Jacob stared at the ground.
“Jonathan found me.”
“You knew he was your father?”
“No.”
“He told me he represented a medical program that helped young women with housing.”
My stomach twisted.
“He recruited you.”
“Yes.”
“For surrogacy?”
“Not at first.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That the clinic needed participants for hormone research.”
“And you agreed?”
“I needed money.”
There was no defensiveness in her voice.
Only shame that didn’t belong to her.
“Then what happened?”
“They gave me injections.”
She swallowed.
“They told me they were regulating my cycle.”
My hands tightened around the binder.
“Then?”
“One morning they sedated me.”
Her voice shook.
“When I woke up, they said everything had gone normally.”
“Did they tell you an embryo had been transferred?”
“No.”
Marcus whispered:
“Jesus.”
“Three weeks later, I got sick.”
Renee looked at Jacob.
“I was pregnant.”
The boy’s jaw tightened.
“What did Jonathan say?”
“That I must have gotten pregnant naturally.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I was seventeen.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I wanted to believe somebody knew what they were doing.”
“When did you learn the truth?”
“Years later.”
“How?”
“Jacob got sick when he was six.”
I immediately looked at him.
He appeared healthy.
“What happened?”
“An autoimmune condition.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes.”
Renee smiled at him.
“He’s stubborn.”
Jacob finally smiled faintly.
“Runs in the family, apparently.”
Marcus actually laughed.
A tiny sound.
Then his expression became serious again.
Renee continued.
“The doctors wanted family medical history.”
“I didn’t have any.”
“So I started searching.”
“And found Jonathan.”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?”
“At first, nothing.”
“Then?”
“He offered me money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“To stop searching?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
Jonathan laughed.
“You should have.”
Renee turned toward him.
“And you should have gone to prison fifteen years ago.”
The officers started leading Jonathan toward a police vehicle.
“Wait,” I said.
One officer looked at me.
“Ma’am, detectives will need formal statements from everyone.”
“I understand.”
I looked at Jonathan.
“But I want one answer.”
He smiled.
“You want many answers.”
“One.”
“Go ahead.”
I held up the binder.
“How many children?”
He studied me.
Then looked at Marcus.
Then at Jacob.
Then at my quadruplets.
Then at Lily.
His smile faded.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, I believed him.
That was somehow worse.
“You created them and you don’t know?”
“Not every pregnancy was reported.”
Renee whispered:
“You monster.”
Jonathan shrugged.
“Medicine advances because someone takes risks.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“Medicine advances through consent.”
His expression changed.
“You don’t get to hide behind science after treating people like inventory.”
For once, he had no clever response.
Police put him into the vehicle.
But before the door closed, he leaned forward.
“Kesha.”
I didn’t answer.
“There is something Renee hasn’t told you.”
Renee stiffened.
Jonathan smiled again.
“Ask her why she waited until today.”
The door slammed.
Police drove him away.
I slowly turned toward Renee.
She looked terrified.
“What does he mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t.”
My voice softened.
“I have had enough people decide what truth I’m ready to hear.”
She looked down.
“Tell me.”
“I came today because Jonathan contacted me last night.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you were finally coming to Boulder.”
“How did he know?”
“Patricia.”
Everyone looked at her.
Patricia whispered:
“I told him Marcus invited Kesha.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Why are you still talking to that man?”
“I wanted him to help me repair the trust.”
“You wanted him to hide what you did.”
She didn’t answer.
I looked back at Renee.
“What else?”
“Jonathan said something was going to happen today.”
“What?”
“He said by tonight he would control both companies.”
Marcus frowned.
“How?”
“I didn’t know.”
“And now?”
Renee looked toward my children.
“I think I do.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The trust.”
Richard stepped closer.
“What about it?”
“The trust doesn’t simply hold shares.”
“What else?”
“Voting rights.”
Marcus nodded.
“Yes.”
“If the four children are confirmed beneficiaries, together their shares could influence control of Reynolds Peak.”
“Correct.”
“And if there are more biological children?”
Richard went still.
“That depends entirely on the trust language.”
Renee opened the binder.
“Thomas Reynolds didn’t name Noah, Ethan, Sophia, and Olivia individually.”
Richard’s expression changed.
“How do you know?”
“Because Jonathan has a copy.”
She pulled out another document.
Richard took it.
His eyes moved quickly across the page.
Then he whispered:
“Oh no.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“What?”
Richard read aloud:
“Any biological descendants of Marcus Reynolds born prior to execution of this instrument.”
Nobody moved.
“When was the trust executed?” I asked.
Richard checked.
“Seven years ago.”
I looked at Jacob.
Fifteen.
Then Lily.
Eight.
My heart accelerated.
“Both of them were already born.”
Richard nodded.
“If DNA confirms Marcus is their biological father, they could potentially qualify.”
Marcus stared at Jacob.
Then Lily.
“So the trust isn’t divided among four children.”
“Potentially six.”
Renee shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
She looked at the binder.
“Potentially more.”
Silence.
“How many names on that list were born before the trust?”
She flipped through several pages.
“I’ve identified nine possible live births.”
My chest tightened.
“Nine?”
“Possible.”
Marcus stared at her.
“Are you saying I might have nine biological children?”
“No.”
She looked at me too.
“I’m saying there may be nine children connected to embryos Jonathan created.”
“Using us?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Then they wouldn’t be beneficiaries.”
“Unless Marcus was the genetic father.”
Richard nodded reluctantly.
“She’s right.”
Marcus sat down on the snowy porch step.
For the first time all day, he looked completely overwhelmed.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Then Jacob walked toward him.
Marcus looked up.
They stared at each other.
Jacob shoved his hands into his coat pockets.
“So…”
Marcus waited.
“You’re maybe my biological father.”
Marcus swallowed.
“Apparently.”
“That’s weird.”
A laugh escaped me.
Marcus smiled despite himself.
“Very.”
Jacob looked toward Renee.
“Mom is still my mom.”
Marcus immediately said:
“Of course she is.”
The speed of his answer mattered.
Jacob noticed too.
“I don’t need a new dad.”
Marcus nodded.
“I understand.”
“I have questions.”
“You deserve answers.”
“You don’t have them.”
“No.”
Jacob thought about that.
“Then maybe we can find them.”
Marcus’s eyes filled.
“I’d like that.”
Renee turned away, crying quietly.
I looked at Lily.
She stood beside Sophia and Olivia.
The three girls were already comparing gloves.
Children.
That was what Jonathan had forgotten.
Not assets.
Not genetic material.
Not beneficiaries.
Children.
Human beings.
People with their own lives.
I walked toward them.
Lily looked at me nervously.
“Are you really my mom?”
The question cut straight through me.
I crouched.
“I don’t know what the law will call me yet.”
She frowned.
“But biologically?”
“If what we’ve been told is true, yes.”
“Do I have to live with you now?”
My heart broke.
“No.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“You don’t have to do anything today.”
“Jonathan said you would take me away.”
I felt rage rise again.
“Where do you live now?”
“With Mrs. Bell.”
“Who is Mrs. Bell?”
“My foster mom.”
Renee looked surprised.
“Foster?”
Lily nodded.
“Jonathan doesn’t live with me.”
Of course he didn’t.
He had brought her there as leverage.
“Do you like Mrs. Bell?”
“Yes.”
“Does she treat you well?”
“She makes pancakes shaped like animals.”
I smiled.
“Then nobody is changing your home today.”
She studied my face.
“Can I still know you?”
My eyes filled.
“If you want to.”
She nodded.
“I think I want to.”
Sophia interrupted.
“Can she come to our birthday?”
Olivia gasped.
“Yes!”
I laughed through tears.
“We’ll figure things out slowly.”
Noah looked toward Jacob.
“What about him?”
Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“What about me?”
“Do you play football?”
Jacob smiled.
“Basketball.”
Noah looked disappointed.
“We can work on that.”
For the first time since landing, laughter moved through the group.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I stared at the screen.
After everything I had learned, I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer.
But I did.
“Mom.”
“Kesha.”
Her voice was shaking.
“Is Jonathan there?”
“Police took him.”
She exhaled.
“Thank God.”
“Mom, Renee is here.”
Silence.
Then a sob.
“She found you.”
“You knew she existed.”
“Yes.”
“She’s my sister.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was sixteen when I had her.”
“I understand that part.”
“No, baby, you don’t.”
Her voice broke.
“My parents took her from me.”
I closed my eyes.
Another generation.
Another decision made for someone else.
“They told me she was adopted by a good family.”
“She grew up in foster care.”
My mother began crying.
“I know that now.”
“When did you find out?”
“Six years ago.”
“The same time Tasha started the DNA search.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t contact Renee?”
“I tried.”
Renee was listening now.
Her face hardened.
“You tried?”
My mother heard her.
“Renee?”
Renee stepped closer to the phone.
“I’m here.”
My mother sobbed.
“I wrote you.”
“I never got anything.”
“I sent letters.”
“To where?”
“The address Jonathan gave me.”
Renee closed her eyes.
“He intercepted them.”
Of course.
Always Jonathan.
My mother cried.
“I thought you rejected me.”
Renee wiped her face.
“I thought you never looked.”
Neither woman spoke.
Then my mother whispered:
“I never stopped.”
Renee covered her mouth.
I turned away.
Some moments didn’t belong to me.
After a minute, Mom spoke again.
“Kesha?”
“Yes?”
“There’s something else.”
I nearly laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“No.”
Her voice became serious.
“This is important.”
“What?”
“You said Jonathan was arrested?”
“Yes.”
“Did police search his vehicle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell them they need to.”
“Why?”
“Because Tasha went missing last night.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
Renee looked at me.
Marcus stood immediately.
“What happened?” he asked.
I held up my hand.
“Mom, what do you mean missing?”
“She came to my house yesterday.”
“For what?”
“She said she had found something connected to Jonathan.”
“What?”
“A storage facility.”
“Where?”
“Outside Denver.”
“What was inside?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then what happened?”
“She left around seven.”
“And?”
“She never came home.”
My stomach dropped.
“Did you call police?”
“Yes.”
“They’re looking.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were traveling with the children.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
“I didn’t want you driving distracted.”
Even now.
Still deciding what I could handle.
“Mom.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“I know. I should have told you.”
“What did Tasha say before she left?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“She said Jonathan had kept records outside the clinic.”
“What kind?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
My mother inhaled.
“She said she found proof that one of the children on Renee’s list wasn’t created from stolen samples.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“She said one child was conceived naturally.”
“Whose child?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because Jonathan apparently lied about the child’s parents.”
Renee grabbed the binder.
She began turning pages.
“Which child?”
Mom whispered:
“I don’t know.”
Renee stopped.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She pointed to a name.
One entry had been circled in red.
No patient number.
No embryo code.
Only:
MALE CHILD.
DOB: DECEMBER 23.
STATUS: REASSIGNED.
Marcus saw it.
His face went white.
“My twin.”
My mother heard him.
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
She went silent.
Then:
“Your twin didn’t die.”
“We know.”
“No.”
My mother’s voice shook.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Tasha believed Jonathan lied about who his parents were.”
Marcus stared at me.
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
Renee turned another page.
Then another.
“There’s a reference number.”
“What?”
“Storage D-14.”
My mother gasped.
“What?”
“Kesha, that’s what Tasha wrote down before she left.”
My heart started pounding.
“The Denver storage facility?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the police officer taking statements near the driveway.
“We need the address.”
Mom gave it to me.
Police moved immediately.
Within an hour, detectives in Denver reached the facility.
We stayed in Boulder.
Nobody wanted the children traveling again until we understood what was happening.
Christmas dinner sat untouched.
Turkey cold.
Candles burned down.
Presents remained unopened.
At 4:17 p.m., a detective called.
I put the phone on speaker.
“Ms. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“We located unit D-14.”
My heart pounded.
“Is my sister there?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did you find?”
“Medical records.”
Renee grabbed my hand.
“How many?”
“Hundreds.”
Nobody spoke.
The detective continued.
“Photographs. Birth certificates. Cryogenic storage records. Financial documents.”
“Anything about Tasha?”
“We found her purse.”
My knees weakened.
“Is there blood?”
“No.”
Relief.
Small, but relief.
“What else?”
The detective hesitated.
“There is a second room inside the unit.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of room?”
“Office.”
“And?”
“There are photographs covering one wall.”
“Of what?”
“Children.”
My skin went cold.
“How many?”
“At least twenty.”
Renee covered her mouth.
Marcus whispered:
“Twenty?”
The detective continued.
“Some appear to be the children with you now.”
My eyes moved toward Noah, Ethan, Sophia, Olivia, Lily, and Jacob.
“He was watching them.”
“Yes.”
“What about Tasha?”
“There are photographs of her too.”
“When?”
“Recent.”
“How recent?”
“One appears to have been taken yesterday.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“Where?”
“Outside this facility.”
“So Jonathan knew she was there.”
“It appears so.”
Then the detective said:
“Ms. Carter, we also found a video file labeled with your name.”
“What video?”
“We haven’t reviewed the entire recording yet.”
“Play it.”
“I’d rather—”
“Please.”
Silence.
Then:
“One moment.”
We waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then the detective returned.
“The video appears to be approximately fifteen years old.”
Renee went pale.
“The year Jacob was born.”
“Yes.”
“What is on it?”
“A hospital room.”
My hands shook.
“A woman is giving birth.”
“Who?”
The detective hesitated.
“Renee Carter.”
Renee grabbed the table.
“What?”
“You’re visible in the recording.”
She began trembling.
“I never knew there was a camera.”
“What else?” I asked.
“There are two men.”
“Jonathan?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We don’t know.”
Renee whispered:
“Describe him.”
“Approximately thirty-five to forty. Dark hair. Surgical scrubs.”
Renee shook her head.
“I don’t remember.”
The detective continued.
“After the delivery, the second man carries the baby out.”
“Jacob?”
“Possibly.”
“What happens next?”
“Jonathan speaks directly into the camera.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does he say?”
The detective paused.
Then:
“He says, ‘Subject One survived. Carter-Reynolds combination viable.’”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Renee began crying.
I felt sick.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He says, ‘Proceed with the remaining transfers.’”
The room went silent.
Remaining transfers.
Plural.
“How many?”
“We don’t know.”
Then another officer said something in the background.
The detective stopped.
“What?”
Muffled conversation.
Then he returned.
“Ms. Carter.”
“Yes?”
“We found something else.”
“What?”
“A locked cabinet.”
“What’s inside?”
“Birth records.”
“How many?”
“Eleven.”
My chest tightened.
“Eleven children?”
“Eleven records.”
Renee whispered:
“Names?”
The detective began reading.
Several meant nothing.
Then:
“Jacob Morgan.”
Renee closed her eyes.
“Lily Bell.”
I grabbed the chair.
Then four familiar names.
“Noah Reynolds.”
“Ethan Reynolds.”
“Sophia Reynolds.”
“Olivia Reynolds.”
My children.
The detective continued.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“The final record is different.”
“How?”
“No first name.”
“What does it say?”
“Male infant.”
“Parents?”
The detective became quiet.
“That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“The mother is listed as Patricia Reynolds.”
Everyone turned toward Patricia.
Her face became completely white.
Marcus whispered:
“My twin.”
But the detective continued.
“The father is not Jonathan Hayes.”
Marcus frowned.
“Then who?”
I watched Patricia.
Her lips started trembling.
The detective read the name.
“David Carter.”
Silence.
My father stopped breathing.
“What?”
I stared at him.
Then at Patricia.
Then back at him.
David shook his head.
“No.”
Patricia began crying.
Marcus whispered:
“Mom?”
David looked horrified.
“I never touched Patricia.”
Patricia covered her face.
“I know.”
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?”
She wouldn’t answer.
“Patricia.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
She looked at David.
“Jonathan used your sample.”
David stumbled backward.
My father.
Marcus’s mother.
A child created from them.
Marcus’s twin.
Except not his twin biologically.
I couldn’t process it.
Marcus whispered:
“So the boy born with me…”
Patricia nodded.
“Wasn’t Jonathan’s.”
“Was he Dad’s?”
“No.”
“Then David is his biological father?”
“Yes.”
David stared at her.
“How did Jonathan get my DNA?”
Patricia shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I suddenly understood something that made my blood run cold.
If David was that child’s biological father…
and David was my biological father…
then Marcus’s missing “twin” was my half-brother.
Not Marcus’s biological twin.
They had only shared a womb.
Renee whispered:
“That’s why the record says reassigned.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
Everyone went silent.
I answered.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I heard breathing.
A woman.
“Kesha?”
My heart stopped.
“Tasha?”
She started crying.
“Oh God.”
“Tasha, where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Can you see anything?”
“I’m in a car.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
My blood froze.
“Who is with you?”
A man’s voice spoke in the background.
“Tell her.”
Tasha started crying harder.
I gripped the phone.
“Who are you?”
The man answered.
“My name is Aaron.”
Renee dropped the binder.
Patricia collapsed into a chair.
Marcus whispered:
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You know that name?”
He stared at his mother.
She was sobbing.
“Aaron was the name Dad wanted to give my brother.”
The voice on the phone continued.
“Thomas Reynolds did name me Aaron.”
My heart hammered.
“Aaron, where is my sister?”
“With me.”
“Why?”
“Because she found me.”
“Are you holding her?”
“No.”
Tasha immediately said:
“He isn’t hurting me.”
Relief hit.
“Then where are you?”
“We’re coming to Boulder.”
“Why?”
Aaron became quiet.
Then:
“Because Jonathan lied to all of you.”
“We know that.”
“No.”
“You don’t.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What don’t we know?”
He exhaled.
“I wasn’t the child Jonathan was trying to hide.”
I looked at Marcus.
“Then who was?”
Aaron hesitated.
“Tasha found the original delivery video.”
“We found one too.”
“Not that video.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What video?”
“The one from the night Marcus and I were born.”
Patricia whispered:
“No.”
Aaron heard her.
“Is Patricia there?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His voice hardened.
“She needs to hear this.”
Patricia shook her head.
“Aaron, please.”
He ignored her.
“Jonathan altered the records, but he didn’t switch two babies.”
“What did he do?”
“He switched three.”
Nobody breathed.
Marcus whispered:
“Three?”
Aaron continued.
“There was another woman in labor that night.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“You know her.”
“Who?”
Aaron paused.
Then said:
“Claire’s mother.”
My eyes moved toward Claire.
She went completely still.
“What?”
Marcus stared at his fiancée.
Claire shook her head.
“My mother?”
Aaron continued.
“Her name was Elizabeth Bennett.”
Claire whispered:
“Yes.”
“She gave birth on December 23.”
“No.”
Claire backed away.
“My birthday is December 23.”
The room went silent.
Aaron said:
“Exactly.”
Claire covered her mouth.
Marcus looked at her.
Then at Patricia.
Then at the phone.
I couldn’t breathe.
“What are you saying?”
Aaron’s voice became quiet.
“I’m saying the babies who left that hospital didn’t all go home with the women who gave birth to them.”
Claire started crying.
“Who am I?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
“WHO AM I?”
Finally:
“That’s why Tasha and I are coming.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you find?”
“A DNA report.”
“For who?”
“Marcus.”
Marcus stepped closer to the phone.
“And?”
Aaron said:
“Jonathan Hayes isn’t your biological father.”
Patricia gasped.
Marcus froze.
“What?”
Aaron continued.
“Thomas Reynolds wasn’t your biological father either.”
Nobody moved.
Marcus’s voice barely worked.
“Then who is?”
Aaron paused.
Then:
“David Carter.”
The phone nearly slipped from my hand.
My father stared at Marcus.
I couldn’t breathe.
If David was Marcus’s biological father…
and David was mine…
then Marcus and I WERE half-siblings.
I looked at our four children.
“No.”
Aaron immediately said:
“Kesha, listen to me.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
“No.”
“The report is incomplete.”
“What does that mean?”
“Jonathan manipulated DNA records too.”
“Then why tell us?”
“Because we found the original samples.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“With me.”
“And?”
“We’re bringing them.”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Then Tasha spoke.
“Kesha?”
“Yes?”
“There’s one more thing.”
I could barely take another breath.
“What?”
“Don’t let Patricia leave.”
Patricia looked toward the front door.
“Why?”
“Because she knows which baby was really Marcus.”
My blood froze.
I stared at Patricia.
She stood.
Marcus moved between her and the door.
“Sit down.”
“Marcus—”
“Sit.”
She did.
I held the phone tighter.
“Tasha, what does that mean?”
She started crying again.
“The man you’ve been calling Marcus for eight years…”
Marcus went completely still.
“…may not be Marcus Reynolds at all.”
The line went dead.
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