Chapter 3 - THE SON WHO NEVER HAD A GRAVE
I'd arrived at Sunrise Children's Home believing I had one daughter.
Now I was staring at a letter suggesting I might have a son somewhere in the world.
I couldn't move.
For five years, I'd been running from fatherhood.
Now I would have given everything I owned to recover a single lost day.
"Margaret," I whispered, "tell me everything."
She closed the office door.
Emma remained at the play table, happily coloring.
Margaret lowered her voice.
"Claire told us she'd been pregnant with twins. During the pregnancy, she was told the boy had died."
"But she didn't believe it?"
"Not after she discovered discrepancies in the medical records."
I looked at the letter.
"Daniel gave her those records?"
Margaret nodded.
"He said he was helping her find answers."
My stomach turned.
Daniel had always seemed sympathetic when I mentioned Claire.
Whenever I considered contacting her, he warned me not to reopen old wounds.
He'd even claimed she was engaged to another man.
I'd believed him.
Because believing him was easier than facing the woman I'd abandoned.
"How did Emma end up here?" I asked.
Margaret's expression softened.
"Claire brought her to our affiliated family-support program while she was looking for work. Later, she became one of our volunteer teachers."
I looked toward Emma.
"She wasn't abandoned?"
"Never. Claire loved that child more than anything."
I swallowed.
"What happened after the accident?"
"Claire had named Sunrise as Emma's temporary guardian if anything happened before her legal arrangements were finalized. We tried to identify suitable relatives, but several leads were blocked by conflicting documents."
My pulse quickened.
"Daniel?"
"We didn't know who was responsible."
I stood.
"Then why didn't anyone contact me?"
Margaret opened another folder.
"Because someone submitted a document stating you'd legally renounced your parental rights."
I stared.
"I never signed anything."
"I suspected as much."
She turned the document toward me.
There was my name.
My signature.
Or something resembling it.
The date was three weeks after Claire gave birth.
I remembered that week.
I'd been in San Francisco closing a major investment deal.
Daniel had handled all my paperwork.
Contracts.
Bank authorizations.
Corporate resolutions.
I looked at the forged signature.
My blood went cold.
"He had access to everything."
Margaret nodded.
"Claire fought to have the document investigated, but she died before the matter was resolved."
I sat down heavily.
Across the room, Emma looked up.
"Daddy?"
I forced myself to smile.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Do you like dinosaurs?"
The question nearly shattered me.
"Very much."
She grinned.
"Good. Because my brother likes them too."
My heart stopped.
I looked at Margaret.
She looked equally stunned.
I crouched beside Emma.
"Sweetheart, what brother?"
She pointed to her drawing.
There, beside the little girl, was a smaller figure wearing a green shirt.
"Mommy said his name is Noah."
I could barely breathe.
"Where is Noah?"
Emma frowned.
"I don't know."
Then she added something that made Margaret grip the edge of her desk.
"Sometimes a lady brings me pictures of him."
"What lady?"
Emma tilted her head.
"The lady with the purple butterfly necklace."
I looked at Margaret.
Her face had drained of color.
Because there was only one woman connected to Sunrise Children's Home who always wore a purple butterfly necklace.
Margaret whispered her name.
May you like
"Vanessa Whitmore."
Daniel's wife.
