Chapter 4 - THE SECRET IN THE HOSPITAL RECORDS
My mother's final words echoed through the room.
“And that child was connected to you.”
I couldn't understand what she meant.
I shook my head.
“I wasn't born twenty-nine years ago.”
“No,” my mother said.
“You were born twenty-nine years ago.”
She looked at Grandma.
“But Margaret's second child was born before Serena.”
Grandma stared at her.
“Stop lying.”
“I am not.”
I felt dizzy.
My father moved toward the chair.
“Brenda.”
She ignored him.
“There were two babies.”
My grandmother's face went pale.
“What are you talking about?”
“One survived.”
“And the other?”
My mother looked at me.
“That's why your daughter matters.”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
Grandma stepped toward my mother.
“What did you do?”
My mother began crying.
“I didn't do anything.”
“Then tell her.”
My mother looked at me.
“Your grandmother's daughter had twins.”
The room went completely silent.
Twins.
I stared at Grandma.
She looked as shocked as I felt.
“I never knew.”
My mother nodded.
“Because nobody told you.”
Grandma's lips trembled.
“Where is the other child?”
My mother looked toward the floor.
“I don't know.”
Grandma's expression collapsed.
“You don't know?”
“The hospital records disappeared.”
My father closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“Dad?”
He didn't respond.
“Dad, what did you do?”
He whispered,
“I was trying to protect the family.”
My grandmother slammed her cane against the floor.
“You destroyed it.”
My father flinched.
I turned to my mother.
“What does this have to do with me?”
She hesitated.
“You were raised as the biological child of your parents.”
“Yes.”
“But…”
She stopped.
My stomach twisted.
“But what?”
My mother looked at my daughter.
“Your biological father isn't who you think he is.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
My mother shook her head.
“I can't.”
Grandma suddenly looked at my father.
“Gerald.”
He said nothing.
Grandma understood.
She turned toward me.
“Your mother is saying your birth records may have been altered.”
My heart pounded.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
My father finally spoke.
“Because your mother believed it would keep you safe.”
“From what?”
He didn't answer.
“From whom?”
Nothing.
I looked at Evelyn.
She was still sitting beside Kenneth, pale and trembling.
“My entire family has been lying to me.”
Nobody corrected me.
That was the worst part.
My daughter began crying.
The sound cut through the room.
I immediately reached into the bassinet and lifted her.
She was tiny and warm against my chest.
I whispered,
“I'm here.”
My grandmother watched us.
Then she noticed something.
The hospital bracelet around my daughter's ankle.
“Serena.”
“What?”
“Show me the bracelet.”
I handed her the baby's ankle carefully.
Grandma stared at the number printed on it.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She looked toward the nurse's station.
“Do you know which hospital records office is on this floor?”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because that number isn't only an identification number.”
My heart stopped.
“What is it?”
Grandma whispered,
“It matches an old patient code.”
My father suddenly moved toward her.
“No.”
Grandma looked at him.
“You remember.”
My father said nothing.
I pressed my daughter closer.
“What does it match?”
Grandma looked at me.
“The maternity records from the year you were born.”
My entire body went cold.
“Why would my daughter's bracelet match records from twenty-nine years ago?”
My mother began crying.
My father looked defeated.
Then someone knocked on the door.
A nurse entered.
“Ms. Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
“I was asked to bring you something.”
She held a sealed envelope.
I frowned.
“Who asked you?”
“A woman named Dr. Helen Price.”
I didn't know the name.
Grandma did.
She immediately stood.
“Helen is still alive?”
The nurse nodded.
“She said you would understand.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of an old hospital discharge record.
The date was twenty-nine years earlier.
My name appeared at the top.
But underneath it was something I had never seen.
“Twin B.”
I stared at the words.
Then at my mother.
She whispered,
“Serena…”
I couldn't breathe.
“Where is Twin A?”
Nobody answered.
The nurse quietly left.
Grandma took the document.
She read it twice.
Then she looked at my father.
“You knew.”
He nodded.
“I knew there had been another child.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Grandma's eyes filled with tears.
“After all these years.”
My mother suddenly whispered,
“We found him once.”
I turned.
“Him?”
She nodded.
“Your twin was a boy.”
My heart stopped.
“You found him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Where is he?”
My mother looked toward my grandmother.
Then she looked at me.
“We lost him again.”
My father said quietly,
“That's why we need the adoption papers.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He took the beige folder.
“The records surrounding your birth are connected to the adoption arrangement.”
My grandmother stepped forward.
“No.”
My father opened the folder.
Inside was a document I had never seen.
It was an old legal agreement.
The names had been partially redacted.
But one line was clear.
“Transfer of parental rights.”
I looked at my mother.
“You were planning to use this?”
“No.”
“Then why bring it?”
She looked at Evelyn.
“Because Evelyn's adoption was connected to the same attorney.”
I turned toward my sister.
Evelyn looked horrified.
“What attorney?”
My father whispered the name.
“Thomas Caldwell.”
Grandma froze.
“Thomas.”
She sat down.
“He died fifteen years ago.”
My father nodded.
“But his files didn't.”
My mother looked at me.
“They were transferred to another firm.”
“Which one?”
She hesitated.
“Whitmore & Caldwell.”
I frowned.
“That's the firm that handled my father's estate.”
Grandma suddenly looked at me.
“Your father's estate?”
“Yes.”
She stared at my father.
“You never told her?”
“Told her what?”
“That Gerald was never the original owner of the family company.”
I looked at my father.
“What?”
He said nothing.
My mother whispered,
“The company belonged to Margaret.”
My grandmother's face went white.
“No.”
“Yes.”
My mother looked at me.
“And when Margaret's children disappeared, Gerald inherited everything.”
My daughter began crying again.
I rocked her slowly.
My mind was spinning.
Adoption.
Twins.
Missing records.
Inheritance.
My sister's hidden identity.
And now my father's company.
It was too much.
Then Grandma said something quietly.
“The beige folder isn't an adoption agreement.”
I looked at her.
“Then what is it?”
May you like
She stared at my father.
“It's a confession.”
