Chapter 9 - THE SON SHE STOLE
Margaret refused to speak for nearly an hour.
She sat in the hospital bed, staring at the wall.
Daniel stood beside the window.
Lena stood near the door.
No one wanted to be the first to speak.
Finally, Daniel broke the silence.
“Who am I?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Daniel.”
“Don't call me that.”
Her face tightened.
“That is your name.”
“Is it?”
Margaret began to cry.
Daniel turned toward her.
“Am I your son?”
Margaret said nothing.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
Daniel stared.
Lena felt the pain in his silence.
“Then who am I?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You raised me.”
“Yes.”
“You held me.”
“Yes.”
“You told me I was your son.”
“I believed you were.”
“But you knew there was a possibility I wasn't.”
Margaret covered her face.
“I was told you were mine.”
“By whom?”
Margaret looked at Lena.
“Your father.”
Lena felt anger burn through her.
“My father stole a child?”
“He didn't steal you.”
“Then what did he do?”
Margaret looked at Daniel.
“Your biological mother was a woman named Rachel Whitmore.”
Daniel froze.
“Whitmore?”
Margaret nodded.
“My husband's sister.”
Lena stared.
“Then Daniel is still part of the family.”
“By blood, yes.”
“Why hide it?”
Margaret looked toward the window.
“Because Rachel died.”
“When?”
“Two days after giving birth.”
Daniel's expression changed.
“What?”
“She died from complications.”
“Then why wasn't I given to her family?”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“Because your father was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Margaret looked at Lena.
“Your father had discovered that my husband had stolen millions from the company.”
Lena stared.
“What?”
“Robert Hart knew everything.”
“And he used Daniel?”
Margaret nodded.
“He believed the baby could expose the truth.”
Daniel's voice became bitter.
“So he gave me to you?”
“He believed I would protect you.”
“You lied to me for thirty-six years.”
“I loved you.”
“That doesn't make it right.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“No.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Where is Emily?”
Margaret looked at Lena.
“She is alive.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Lena's anger exploded.
“You just said you knew!”
Margaret began to cry.
“I knew where she was thirty years ago.”
“Where?”
“In Chicago.”
Lena's heart pounded.
“What happened?”
“She was adopted.”
“By whom?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I never knew their name.”
“You're lying.”
Margaret looked at her.
“No.”
Then she reached beneath the mattress.
She pulled out a small envelope.
Lena took it.
Inside was a photograph.
A little girl.
Five years old.
Dark hair.
Bright eyes.
A small birthmark beneath her left ear.
Lena stared.
The girl looked familiar.
Not because Lena remembered her.
Because she had seen that face before.
On an old photograph of her mother.
The girl was wearing a silver bracelet.
The same bracelet Lena had found in the locked box.
On the back of the photograph was a name.
EMILY ROSS.
And beneath it:
ADOPTED BY THOMAS AND MARIA ROSS.
Lena looked at Margaret.
“You knew.”
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
“I found her.”
“When?”
“Twenty-seven years ago.”
“And you did nothing?”
“I watched her from a distance.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Margaret whispered:
“That if I told her the truth, she would hate me.”
Lena stared at her.
“You let my mother die believing her daughter was gone.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The room became silent.
Then Daniel spoke.
“Find her.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because she deserves to know.”
May you like
Lena took the photograph.
“And so do I.”
