PART 4
I couldn’t move.
The DNA report was still on my phone.
I read the words again.
Biological relationship confirmed.
My name.
Donald’s name.
A relationship.
But what kind?
I looked at the photograph my mother had kept.
The little boy standing beside Nancy.
Donald.
There was no question.
Even at six years old, his face was unmistakable.
But if he wasn’t Nancy’s biological son…
Then whose son was he?
And why did my mother know?
My phone rang.
Donald.
I answered.
“What is this?”
His breathing was heavy.
“I found it in Mom’s safe.”
“What kind of relationship does the test say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I only saw the first page.”
“Then why did you send it to me?”
“Because I saw your name.”
I stood up.
“Where are you?”
“Outside the house.”
“Why?”
“I went back for more documents.”
“You went back to Nancy’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Donald, leave.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom is here.”
My stomach dropped.
“Does she know you’re there?”
“I don’t think so.”
Then I heard something in the background.
A door.
Donald’s breathing stopped.
“Donald?”
He whispered:
“She just came home.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Get out.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She locked the front door.”
I froze.
“Donald?”
No answer.
“Donald!”
I heard footsteps.
Then his voice.
Very quietly.
“She’s going downstairs.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
I called again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I looked at my sister.
“I’m going there.”
She grabbed my arm.
“No.”
“My husband is inside.”
“You don’t know what you’re walking into.”
“I can’t leave him there.”
“You don’t even know whether he’s safe.”
“I know.”
I pulled my arm free.
“And that’s why I’m going.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then she picked up her coat.
“I’m coming.”
We drove in silence.
Neither of us spoke.
The city passed outside the windshield, but I barely saw any of it.
My mind was somewhere else.
With the photograph.
With my mother’s letter.
With the DNA report.
With the little boy who had supposedly been Nancy’s son.
Except he wasn’t.
Or at least, the DNA suggested otherwise.
As we approached Nancy’s apartment, I noticed something strange.
There were no lights on upstairs.
But there was a car in the driveway.
Nancy’s.
I parked several houses away.
My sister looked at me.
“Call him.”
I did.
No answer.
Then I noticed something.
The basement window was slightly open.
I looked at my sister.
“That’s where the old documents were.”
“How do you know?”
“Donald told me.”
We walked around the side of the house.
The basement door was locked.
But the window wasn’t.
I pushed it open.
Cold air came out.
My sister whispered:
“This is a terrible idea.”
“I know.”
I climbed inside.
She followed.
The basement smelled like dust and old paper.
There was a single light glowing at the far end.
I moved slowly.
Then I heard something.
A voice.
Donald’s.
“Mom, please.”
I stopped.
Nancy answered.
“You should never have looked.”
I moved closer.
Donald said:
“You lied to me my entire life.”
Nancy’s voice was calm.
“I protected you.”
“You stole me.”
Silence.
Then Nancy said something that made my blood run cold.
“I saved you.”
Donald laughed bitterly.
“From what?”
“From your real family.”
I covered my mouth.
My sister looked at me.
We both heard it.
Nancy continued.
“You were going to be taken away.”
“By who?”
“Your mother.”
Donald went silent.
Then:
“Who was my mother?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
“Who was she?”
“She was sick.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She couldn’t keep you.”
“You took me.”
“I kept you alive.”
Donald slammed something onto the table.
“You forged the papers.”
My heart pounded.
Nancy finally raised her voice.
“You were six years old!”
“I was old enough to remember!”
“Then remember what would have happened if I hadn’t taken you.”
Donald shouted:
“You kidnapped me!”
The silence afterward was terrifying.
Then Nancy whispered:
“You have no idea what I sacrificed.”
I stepped forward.
The floor creaked.
Nancy stopped speaking.
Donald turned.
Our eyes met through the doorway.
His face went white.
“Why are you here?”
I didn’t answer.
Nancy slowly turned toward me.
For the first time in my life, I saw fear on her face.
Real fear.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Fear.
She looked at my sister.
Then back at me.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
I held up the DNA report.
“What is this?”
Nancy’s eyes moved to the paper.
Then she smiled.
Not kindly.
Almost sadly.
“So you found it.”
“Found what?”
“The beginning.”
Donald stepped toward me.
“Don’t listen to her.”
Nancy looked at him.
“You’ve spent your whole life believing your mother abandoned you.”
Donald froze.
“She didn’t.”
Nancy’s voice softened.
“She was trying to find you.”
Donald shook his head.
“No.”
“She spent years looking.”
“No.”
“She never stopped.”
“Stop lying.”
Nancy looked at me.
“Tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“That your mother knew me.”
Donald stared at me.
“What is she talking about?”
I couldn’t answer.
Nancy smiled.
“Your wife knows more than she realizes.”
Donald’s eyes moved toward me.
“What does that mean?”
I took a step back.
“I don’t know.”
Nancy laughed quietly.
“Your mother left her a letter.”
Donald looked at me.
“You found it?”
I nodded.
“What did it say?”
I hesitated.
Nancy answered for me.
“It told her the truth.”
Donald looked at Nancy.
“What truth?”
Nancy stared directly at him.
“That you are not my son.”
Donald stopped breathing.
I watched him absorb the words.
Then he whispered:
“I knew.”
Nancy’s expression changed.
“You knew?”
“I always suspected.”
“When?”
“When I was seventeen.”
Nancy’s face went still.
Donald continued.
“I found my birth certificate.”
“You were never supposed to see it.”
“It had another name.”
Nancy looked away.
“What name?”
Donald asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
“WHAT NAME?”
Nancy finally whispered:
“Daniel.”
Donald stared at her.
“Daniel what?”
Nancy’s lips trembled.
“Daniel Hayes.”
My heart stopped.
Hayes.
My mother’s maiden name.
Donald looked at me.
I looked at my sister.
She was crying.
“No,” I whispered.
Donald stepped toward me.
“Your mother was my mother?”
My sister shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
She wiped her face.
“Your mother had a brother.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You never knew about him.”
My world tilted.
“My mother had a brother?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
“He disappeared when he was young.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“Because Mom never talked about him.”
Donald looked between us.
“His name was Daniel?”
My sister nodded.
“Daniel Hayes.”
Donald stepped backward.
“I don’t understand.”
Neither did I.
Then Nancy spoke.
“Daniel was your biological father.”
Silence.
Donald looked at her.
“No.”
“He was.”
“You said my parents were dead.”
“I said your mother was gone.”
“You told me my father died before I was born.”
“He did.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
“Then how could I have been six when you took me?”
Nancy said nothing.
Donald suddenly understood.
“You lied about my age.”
Nancy’s face hardened.
“You were four.”
He stared at her.
“I was four?”
“Yes.”
“You told me I was six.”
“You remembered too much.”
Donald looked sick.
“What did I remember?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
“What did I see?”
Still nothing.
Then Donald whispered:
“Was it the baby?”
Nancy’s face changed.
I looked at him.
“What baby?”
He turned toward me.
“The baby in the hospital.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What baby?”
Donald closed his eyes.
“I remember a room.”
Nancy stepped toward him.
“Stop.”
“I remember a woman crying.”
“Donald.”
“I remember a baby.”
“Enough.”
“And I remember you taking something.”
Nancy grabbed his arm.
He pulled away.
“You took the baby.”
My sister gasped.
I stared at Nancy.
“What baby?”
Nancy looked at me.
Then she said:
“Your mother’s.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother had a baby?”
“Not your mother.”
Nancy’s voice became cold.
“Your mother’s brother.”
Daniel.
Donald.
The missing infant.
The pieces were starting to connect.
But they still didn’t make sense.
I asked:
“Who was the baby?”
Nancy looked at me.
“Your cousin.”
I couldn’t speak.
Then she said:
“Carolyn.”
Everything stopped.
I laughed.
It came out involuntarily.
“No.”
Nancy didn’t move.
“That is impossible.”
“Is it?”
“My daughter was born five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“My husband is her father.”
Nancy looked at Donald.
“Are you sure?”
Donald stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
Nancy turned toward me.
“I am saying Carolyn’s birth records are not what you think they are.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You never saw the original record.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No.”
“I signed it.”
“You signed a copy.”
I felt the room spin.
“What did you change?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
Donald stepped between us.
“What did you do?”
Nancy looked at him.
“I protected this family.”
Donald shouted:
“STOP SAYING THAT!”
The sound echoed through the basement.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Nancy slowly walked to a cabinet.
She unlocked it.
Inside were dozens of files.
She pulled out one.
Then another.
Then another.
She placed them on the table.
“Look.”
Donald didn’t move.
I did.
The first file contained hospital records.
The second contained adoption paperwork.
The third contained a birth certificate.
I picked up the birth certificate.
Carolyn’s name was on it.
But something was wrong.
The date was correct.
The hospital was correct.
My name was there.
Donald’s name was there.
Yet the document number was different from the one on the copy I had at home.
I looked at Nancy.
“What is this?”
“The original.”
“Why does it have a different number?”
“Because the first one was canceled.”
“Why?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
I opened the next file.
A laboratory report.
DNA analysis.
I read the names.
My hands began shaking.
One was mine.
One was Carolyn’s.
The third name was…
Daniel Hayes.
I looked at Donald.
“He’s dead.”
Nancy said:
“Yes.”
“Then how could he have been tested?”
“He was tested before he died.”
I couldn’t understand.
Then I saw the date.
The test had been performed nine years ago.
Before Carolyn was born.
Before Donald and I married.
Before I even knew I would have a daughter.
I looked at the result.
The relationship was listed as:
Biological parent and child.
My hands went cold.
I looked at Nancy.
“Daniel was Carolyn’s father?”
Nancy nodded.
“No.”
I stared at her.
“Then what is this?”
She pointed to the report.
“Daniel was the biological father of the baby.”
“What baby?”
“The baby who disappeared.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The little boy.
Donald.
The young woman.
The baby.
My mother.
Nancy.
Everything was tangled together.
I needed one clear answer.
“Where is the baby?”
Nancy looked at me.
For the first time, she didn’t look angry.
She looked tired.
“Dead.”
I shook my head.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
“Then why is Carolyn’s name on the documents?”
Nancy’s eyes moved toward me.
“Because you were never supposed to find those.”
“Why?”
“Because once you did, you would start asking questions.”
“I am asking them now.”
Nancy took a long breath.
“Carolyn was born with a different identity.”
My stomach turned.
“What?”
“Your daughter was entered into the system under another name.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was trying to protect her.”
“From whom?”
Nancy looked at me.
“From the person who wanted to find her.”
“Who?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
Donald did.
“Mom.”
Nancy looked at him.
“No.”
“Then who?”
She pointed at me.
“Her.”
I froze.
“What?”
Nancy’s voice shook.
“Your mother was the one who wanted Carolyn.”
I stepped backward.
“That makes no sense.”
“She believed the child belonged to her family.”
“It does.”
Nancy shook her head.
“No.”
She opened another file.
Inside was a photograph.
A newborn baby.
A hospital bracelet.
I stared at the photograph.
Then at the bracelet.
Then at the name.
My heart stopped.
The baby’s name was not Carolyn.
It was another name.
A name I had heard before.
A name from my mother’s old letters.
A name from the newspaper.
A name that had appeared nine years ago.
Anna Hayes.
My sister whispered:
“That was Mom’s niece.”
I looked at her.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“Because Mom used to talk about Anna.”
I turned back to Nancy.
“Who is Anna?”
Nancy’s face changed.
“Your mother’s first child.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“My mother had a child before me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years before you were born.”
“Where is she?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
Donald looked at the file.
“She’s dead.”
Nancy nodded.
“That’s what everyone was told.”
Everyone?
I looked at the photograph again.
The baby was alive.
And the date on the photograph was nine years ago.
That couldn’t be right.
Unless…
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting.
Not Nancy’s.
Not my mother’s.
Donald’s.
I stared at it.
The words were written in a child’s handwriting.
“Anna is my sister.”
I looked at Donald.
“You wrote this?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t remember.”
Nancy whispered:
“You were there.”
“Where?”
“The night she disappeared.”
Donald covered his mouth.
Fragments seemed to return to him.
A hospital corridor.
A crying woman.
A baby.
A man shouting.
A door closing.
Then he looked at Nancy.
“You killed her.”
Nancy’s face collapsed.
“No.”
“You killed Anna.”
“No.”
“You took her.”
“No.”
“Then where is she?”
Nancy didn’t answer.
Donald stepped closer.
“Where is my sister?”
Nancy looked at me.
Then she said something I never expected.
“She is alive.”
The room went completely silent.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She is alive.”
“Where?”
Nancy’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know.”
Donald grabbed the edge of the table.
“You’ve known this entire time?”
“I knew she survived.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Nancy looked at me.
“Because I don’t know if she’s still alive.”
I felt dizzy.
“Then why tell us?”
Nancy reached into the cabinet again.
She pulled out a final envelope.
She placed it in front of me.
“This arrived yesterday.”
I looked at the envelope.
My name was written on it.
Again.
But this time, the handwriting wasn’t my mother’s.
It was unfamiliar.
Nancy whispered:
“She found us.”
“Who?”
Nancy looked at Donald.
Then at me.
“The woman who has been looking for Carolyn.”
My fingers touched the envelope.
“Who is she?”
Nancy’s answer came so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
“Anna.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman stood outside a school.
She was older than I remembered.
But the face…
I knew that face.
I had seen it in my mother’s photographs.
I had seen it in the old newspaper.
I had seen it beside Nancy.
And now she was standing outside Carolyn’s school.
On the back of the photograph were seven words.
“Tell her I know who I am.”
I stared at the message.
Then I noticed the date.
It had been taken two days ago.
While Carolyn was still at school.
While I was still living with Donald.
While Nancy was still pretending nothing was happening.
Someone had been watching my daughter.
Someone who knew our family.
Someone who had been searching for years.
I turned toward Nancy.
“Where is she now?”
Nancy shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
My phone vibrated.
I looked down.
An unknown number.
One message.
“You have the wrong woman.”
I stared at it.
Another message arrived.
“Nancy is not the person you should be afraid of.”
Then a third.
A photograph.
Carolyn.
Taken that morning.
She was standing outside my sister’s house.
Someone had been watching us.
I looked up.
My sister’s face had gone white.
“Someone knows where she is.”
I grabbed my coat.
“Where’s Carolyn?”
My sister looked at me.
“With the babysitter.”
I froze.
I hadn’t told anyone where Carolyn was staying.
Except one person.
Donald.
I looked at him.
He was staring at his phone.
“What?”
He slowly raised his eyes.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Then who knew?”
Nobody answered.
I called the babysitter.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I called again.
This time, someone picked up.
But it wasn’t the babysitter.
A woman’s voice whispered:
“She’s safe.”
My heart stopped.
“Who are you?”
The woman laughed softly.
Then she said:
“Ask Donald what happened the night I disappeared.”
The call ended.
Donald looked at me.
His face was completely white.
Because he knew that voice.
He whispered:
“Anna.”
And then every light in Nancy’s basement went out…..
