PART 5 — The Child Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist
The photograph lay on the table between us.
Nobody touched it.
Nobody breathed.
Julian kept staring at the sentence written across the back.
One of your children isn't yours.
Finally, he looked at me.
“Tell me everything.”
I shook my head.
“I don't know what it means.”
“But you suspected something.”
“I suspected nothing.”
“Then why did you say the doctors mentioned the blood type?”
“Because they did.”
Julian looked at the children.
“Which child?”
“I don't know.”
Michael picked up the photograph.
“There has to be more.”
There was.
The envelope contained a second piece of paper.
An address.
A private medical clinic in Atlanta.
And a name.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
I recognized it immediately.
“My obstetrician.”
Julian looked at me.
“Is he still alive?”
“I don't know.”
We left the children with Michael and drove to the clinic.
The building was nearly empty.
An elderly receptionist looked at us.
When she saw my face, she froze.
“Genevieve?”
“Yes.”
“You're alive.”
Julian stepped forward.
“What does that mean?”
The receptionist looked terrified.
“I shouldn't say anything.”
I placed the old photograph on the counter.
Her hands began shaking.
“You have it.”
“What?”
“The photograph.”
“Who gave it to you?”
She shook her head.
“No one.”
“Then what do you know?”
She looked at Julian.
“You're his son.”
“Yes.”
“And those children…”
“My children.”
The woman closed her eyes.
“Then you deserve to know.”
She reached beneath the counter and removed an old file.
The file was marked with my name.
I opened it.
Inside was my original hospital record.
Five births.
Five children.
Everything looked normal.
Until I reached the final page.
There was an amended document.
A paternity test.
My hands trembled.
Julian stood beside me.
“What does it say?”
I read it.
Then stopped.
“No.”
“What?”
I handed it to him.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then widened.
The test showed that Julian was the biological father of four children.
Not five.
One child was not biologically related to him.
Julian looked at me.
“Which one?”
The receptionist whispered:
“Emma.”
My knees nearly gave way.
“No.”
I grabbed the file.
“That's impossible.”
The receptionist began crying.
“You had complications during delivery.”
“I remember.”
“There was an emergency.”
“Yes.”
“And another baby was brought into the nursery.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She looked down.
“Two mothers delivered children that night.”
Julian's face hardened.
“What are you saying?”
“There was a mix-up.”
“A mix-up?”
The receptionist nodded.
“But someone corrected the records afterward.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“Dr. Reed.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Julian slammed his hand against the counter.
“Where is Dr. Reed?”
“He died six years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
Another dead end.
Then the receptionist whispered:
“But he left something.”
She handed me a sealed envelope.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Genevieve, if you're reading this, I failed you.
My hands shook.
Your daughter Emma was not supposed to be placed with you.
I stopped reading.
Julian took the letter.
He continued.
The child who was supposed to go home with you was another baby.
His eyes widened.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He kept reading.
Someone paid me to alter the records.
“Who?”
The letter answered.
Victoria Hayes.
Everything went silent.
Julian slowly lowered the paper.
“No.”
I couldn't move.
The receptionist whispered:
“She wanted control of the Sterling inheritance.”
“What does my daughter have to do with inheritance?”
The receptionist looked at me.
“Because the other baby's father was a Sterling.”
Julian stared at her.
“What?”
She nodded.
“Your father's older brother.”
I felt the room spin.
“Harrison's brother?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Your father's secret son.”
Julian's face became expressionless.
“My father had another son?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
The receptionist looked at me.
“Daniel Sterling.”
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Daniel.
I remembered Harrison once mentioning a brother who had died young.
But apparently that was another lie.
Julian whispered:
“Where is he?”
“He isn't dead.”
Silence.
“He lives under another name.”
I looked at the receptionist.
“Where?”
She handed me a second address.
My hands were shaking.
Then my phone rang.
It was Michael.
I answered immediately.
“Michael?”
His voice was frantic.
“Genevieve, come back.”
“What happened?”
“Emma is missing.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“I looked away for two minutes.”
“Where are the others?”
“Safe.”
“Who took her?”
“I don't know.”
Then he whispered:
“But someone left a message.”
My voice broke.
“What message?”
Michael swallowed.
“It says…”
He paused.
“The wrong child came home ten years ago. We're taking back what belongs to us.”
I looked at Julian.
His face had turned white.
And suddenly, the mystery was no longer about a ruined marriage.
It was about a child someone had stolen.
And whoever took Emma knew exactly who she really was.
