Chapter 6 - THE SECRET DANIEL NEVER KNEW
Daniel spent the next six hours refusing to speak.
Finally, he sat across from me.
“I need to tell you something.”
I waited.
“When we were married, I wasn't the person I pretended to be.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don't.”
He told me his father had controlled every part of his life.
His education.
His finances.
His career.
Even his marriage.
“I was told marrying you would stabilize the family trust.”
My heart sank.
“So our marriage was arranged?”
“Not officially.”
“But planned.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Did you ever love me?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than if he'd said no.
“Then why did you let them destroy me?”
“I didn't know about Emma.”
“You knew enough.”
“I was weak.”
He lowered his head.
“I believed my family would eventually stop.”
“They didn't.”
“No.”
He handed me an old photograph.
It showed Daniel standing beside Eleanor.
Behind them was a hospital nursery.
On the back was a date.
The night Emma was born.
I stared at the photograph.
“Why were you there?”
“I wasn't supposed to be.”
“What happened?”
“My mother called me.”
“Why?”
“She said you were unconscious.”
He swallowed.
“She told me the baby had died.”
I looked at him.
“And did you see the baby?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn't let me.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Daniel said something that made my blood run cold.
“There was another person there.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I remembered.
Robert Mercer had always hated me.
He had once told Daniel I was “bad for the family image.”
I suddenly understood.
This wasn't Eleanor's secret alone.
It was a family operation.
But then Daniel pulled out a second photograph.
“This was taken three days later.”
I looked at it.
A baby was being carried out of the hospital.
The person carrying her was Rebecca.
But standing beside Rebecca was a young woman.
My mother.
I stared at the image.
My mother had died when I was fourteen.
She couldn't have been there.
Unless the date on the photograph had been changed.
I turned it over.
The original date was handwritten.
Three days before my mother's death.
My hands went numb.
May you like
My mother had known.
And perhaps she had been trying to save Emma.
