Chapter 2 - SIX YEARS OF LIES
I didn’t sleep that night.
At six in the morning, I found Milo sitting on the kitchen counter eating dry cereal from a coffee mug.
He froze when he saw me.
“Mom says we should ask before taking food.”
“You don’t have to ask here.”
He considered that carefully.
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
He poured more cereal.
“You’re rich, right?”
I almost smiled.
“That’s a complicated question.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He pointed at the kitchen.
“This refrigerator has another refrigerator inside it.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Milo grinned.
It was my grin.
That realization still felt impossible.
Mara appeared in the hallway wearing the same clothes from the previous day.
“We should leave after the test.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because this is your apartment.”
“It’s empty.”
“It’s still yours.”
“The boys need somewhere to stay.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“You’ve been figuring everything out alone for six years.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That doesn’t mean I want to become dependent on you now.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“What are you asking?”
I lowered my voice.
“Time.”
Mara looked away.
The boys began waking one by one.
Mason was quiet.
Max asked questions faster than anyone could answer them.
Micah immediately searched for his mother.
Milo watched everything.
By eight thirty, a private medical technician arrived.
I had chosen a laboratory with no connection to Whitaker Holdings.
No family physician.
No corporate insurance.
No one who could report anything to my mother.
The technician swabbed my mouth and then each boy’s.
Max looked suspiciously at the swab.
“Will this tell us if he’s our dad?”
The technician glanced at me.
“Yes.”
Max nodded.
“Okay.”
Then he opened his mouth.
After the samples were collected, Mara stood near the windows.
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
She reached into one of the worn duffel bags and removed a small plastic folder.
Inside were hospital records.
Prenatal scans.
Birth certificates.
Four copies.
Father: blank.
Then she handed me a folded sheet of paper.
It was an email printed six years earlier.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Mara,
My family has made me understand the situation clearly.
A child would interfere with everything I’ve worked toward.
I will provide financial assistance if necessary, but I will not be involved personally.
Do not come to my apartment or office.
I hope you make the responsible choice.
Adrian.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“I never wrote this.”
“I believe you.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Your personal email address.”
I examined the printout.
The formatting looked right.
My signature looked right.
Even the way the paragraphs were spaced looked like mine.
Someone had studied me.
“What happened after you received it?”
Mara’s face hardened.
“Your mother came to see me.”
“Where?”
“My apartment in Queens.”
“What did she say?”
“That I was embarrassing myself.”
My hands curled.
“She said you had told her everything.”
“She lied.”
“I know.”
“She said the Whitakers would pay for medical care if I disappeared.”
“Did she offer you money?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take it?”
Mara looked directly at me.
“No.”
I believed her immediately.
“She came back three days later with two attorneys.”
My stomach turned.
“What attorneys?”
“I don’t know their names.”
“You’d recognize them?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She put a custody petition on my table.”
I stared at her.
“You weren’t even giving birth yet.”
“I was nineteen weeks pregnant.”
“What did it say?”
“That if I attempted to establish paternity publicly, your family would seek custody immediately after delivery.”
“That isn’t how custody works.”
“I was twenty-three, Adrian.”
Her voice sharpened.
“I was pregnant with four babies, working two jobs, and living in a one-bedroom apartment.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know that now.”
She pushed back from the counter.
“But she knew exactly how frightened I was.”
I forced myself to stay quiet.
Mara continued.
“Then she showed me photographs of my mother entering a casino in Atlantic City.”
I frowned.
“My mother had a gambling problem.”
“I remember.”
“She owed money.”
Mara swallowed.
“Eleanor said she could have my mother prosecuted for using one of my accounts to hide debt.”
“Was that true?”
“Partly.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“But Eleanor did.”
“Yes.”
Mara’s eyes filled but she refused to let the tears fall.
“She told me that if I stayed, I could lose my mother and my children.”
My voice dropped.
“So you ran.”
“I moved to Albany first.”
“Then?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Then?”
“Baltimore.”
“You kept moving?”
“Every time I thought someone had found us.”
That sentence chilled me.
“Someone?”
Mara looked toward the boys.
“For almost two years, I received envelopes.”
“What envelopes?”
“No return address.”
“What was inside?”
“Pictures.”
My throat tightened.
“Pictures of what?”
“Me.”
She paused.
“The boys.”
I stopped breathing.
“Taken from a distance.”
Mara opened the folder again.
At the bottom were three photographs.
One showed her pushing a stroller.
Another showed four toddlers playing behind a church.
The last showed Milo entering a preschool.
On the back of each photograph was the same handwritten sentence.
Stay invisible, and they stay with you.
My anger became something colder.
This was no longer a misunderstanding.
It was surveillance.
Intimidation.
May you like
Control.
And someone had spent six years making sure Mara never came back to me.
