A boy.
The word felt impossible.
Not because Rachel and I could not have had a son.
Because somebody could have created him without us ever knowing.
Grace sat down.
Leah remained standing.
Rachel gripped my hand so hard her nails pressed into my skin.
I barely noticed.
“When?” I asked.
Anna looked at the floor.
“The embryo was transferred twenty-six years ago.”
“The same year as the twins.”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“I never knew her real name.”
“What do you mean?”
“Harlan called her Candidate Six.”
My stomach turned.
“A woman.”
“Yes.”
“Pregnant with our child.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew?”
“Not during the pregnancy.”
“When?”
“After delivery.”
“How?”
“She came to me.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid.”
Rachel’s voice was barely audible.
“Of Harlan?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell her?”
“That the embryo came from an anonymous donor couple.”
I laughed without humor.
“Anonymous because he stole it.”
“Yes.”
Grace asked, “Was she paid?”
Anna nodded.
“For surrogacy.”
“Did she consent to giving the child up?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
“She changed her mind after he was born.”
The room quieted.
Leah said, “Of course.”
Anna looked at her.
“She had carried him. She wanted to keep him.”
“What did Harlan do?”
“Threatened her.”
Rachel whispered, “And the baby?”
Anna’s eyes filled.
“I helped her leave.”
I stepped closer.
“You helped them escape.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Missouri.”
“Name.”
“I told you, I didn’t know her real one.”
“What name did she use?”
“Claire.”
“Last name?”
“Donovan.”
Michael was already searching.
Ortiz stopped him.
“We do this through official channels.”
He lowered the phone.
Anna continued.
“She had a sister near Springfield.”
“How long did you stay in contact?”
“Three years.”
“And then?”
“She stopped writing.”
“Did Harlan find her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did David?”
“I don’t think so.”
Grace looked at Anna.
“What was the boy’s name?”
Anna closed her eyes.
“Claire called him Matthew.”
My chest tightened.
Matthew.
A son.
Somewhere.
Possibly thirty? No, twenty-six.
The same age as Grace and Leah.
“They were born the same year.”
Rachel stared.
“All three.”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“If the embryo was created before the twins and transferred months earlier, Matthew could be older.”
Anna nodded.
“He is.”
“How much?”
“Seven months.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Our son had been alive before our daughters were conceived.
A child created from us before we ever knew we had successfully conceived anything naturally.
I looked at Rachel.
She looked back.
Something passed between us that had no name.
Grief for a stranger.
Love for someone unseen.
Violation.
Wonder.
All at once.
Ortiz said, “We need records from Missouri.”
Anna nodded.
“There may be more.”
“What?”
“Claire sent photographs.”
“Do you still have them?”
“One.”
“Where?”
Anna looked at Michael.
“In Harlan’s house.”
Michael frowned.
“You hid things there?”
“For years.”
“Where?”
“My old room.”
“You had a room?”
“Before I disappeared.”
Michael stared.
Harlan’s house had been more crowded with hidden family than he ever knew.
Ortiz arranged for the search team to check the room.
We waited.
Rachel leaned back in the wheelchair.
Her exhaustion was becoming obvious.
Grace noticed.
“You need to lie down.”
Rachel smiled.
“That was almost bossy.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“You’re my daughter.”
Grace went quiet.
Then said, “Both can be true.”
Rachel’s eyes filled.
Leah looked away.
Maybe the intimacy hurt.
Maybe she wanted it too.
I did not push.
After twenty minutes, Ortiz’s phone buzzed.
The photograph had been found behind a loose baseboard.
She opened the image.
A young woman sat on a porch holding a toddler.
The boy had dark hair.
Wide eyes.
A crooked smile.
My smile.
Not exactly.
But enough.
Rachel touched the screen.
“Oh.”
One sound.
That was all she could manage.
Grace leaned closer.
Leah stood behind her.
Anna whispered, “That’s Claire.”
The woman looked about twenty-five.
Tired.
Protective.
Her arms wrapped around Matthew as if someone might reach through the photograph and take him.
On the back, a note had been written.
Anna,
We’re safe. Matt is healthy. He laughs whenever trucks pass. I think he’ll love machines.
I stopped reading.
Trucks.
Machines.
Meaningless coincidence.
Maybe.
But it cut anyway.
The note continued.
I changed our names.
Please don’t look for us unless you hear Harlan is gone.
I’m sorry.
C.
Ortiz enlarged the image.
A house number was visible.
218.
No street.
A mailbox behind Claire showed part of a surname sticker.
Only three letters.
HAR.
Michael frowned.
“Harris?”
“Harlan?” Leah said.
Grace looked at her.
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.”
Ortiz sent the image to investigators.
Rachel kept staring at the boy.
“What if he doesn’t want us?”
I looked at her.
She did not mean the investigators.
She meant Matthew.
“He doesn’t know us.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
She looked at Grace.
Then Leah.
“Apparently not always.”
Leah heard.
She moved closer.
“He may be angry.”
Rachel nodded.
“He may hate us.”
“Yes.”
“He may not care.”
“Yes.”
Rachel looked at her.
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m being honest.”
Rachel almost smiled.
“Fine.”
Leah sat on the arm of a chair.
“If he’s anything like me, he’ll want facts before feelings.”
Grace glanced at her.
“And if he’s like me?”
“He’ll pretend facts are feelings.”
Grace stared.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
For the first time, Rachel laughed with both daughters in the room.
It was brief.
But real.
Ortiz returned to business.
“Claire Donovan doesn’t exist in Missouri records under that name.”
“No surprise,” Anna said.
“Several women named Claire gave birth to boys in the relevant year, but none match.”
“So we have nothing.”
“We have a photograph.”
“And a note.”
“And DNA.”
Grace looked up.
“DNA databases.”
Michael nodded.
“If Matthew ever submitted a sample—”
Ortiz raised a hand.
“We need warrants and legal requests.”
Leah groaned.
“Law moves like it’s wearing wet boots.”
Ortiz ignored her.
“Do any existing kinship databases show another first-degree relationship?”
Grace frowned.
“The earlier report showed only David as Daniel’s brother.”
“Because that was a state database, not consumer genetics.”
Michael nodded.
“Matthew may be elsewhere.”
Rachel looked at me.
“Jessica.”
I frowned.
“What about her?”
“Our niece used one of those ancestry websites.”
“That helps how?”
“She once said there was an unexplained close match in your family tree.”
I stared.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rachel gave me a tired look.
“At the time, an unexplained cousin on a website did not rank among our larger problems.”
Fair.
“Can we call her?”
Ortiz said, “Yes, but do not tell her to alter or download anything yet.”
I called.
Jessica answered groggily.
“Uncle Danny?”
“Sorry.”
“Is Aunt Rachel okay?”
Rachel looked at me.
I put the call on speaker.
“I’m alive,” she said.
Jessica exhaled loudly.
“Okay. Good. I’m awake now.”
I almost smiled.
“Jess, years ago you mentioned an unexpected family match on your ancestry account.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
“You remember.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“The account said likely close relative.”
“How close?”
“First cousin, maybe half uncle. Those estimates change.”
“What name?”
Jessica thought.
“Matt Harris.”
Everyone looked at the photograph.
HAR.
My pulse jumped.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you log in?”
“Sure.”
Ortiz gestured for patience.
Jessica typed.
We waited.
“I found him.”
My mouth went dry.
“What does it say?”
“Matt Harris. Twenty-seven.”
“Location?”
“Account says Springfield, Missouri.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Anna began crying.
“Any recent activity?”
Jessica paused.
“Looks like last login was eight months ago.”
“What about messages?”
“He sent me one.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
I stared.
“What did he say?”
Jessica read.
Hi. This may sound strange, but I’m trying to identify my biological father. The site says we may be close relatives. Do you know anyone in your family named Daniel Whitmore?
Nobody moved.
Rachel looked at me.
“He knew your name.”
I asked Jessica, “Did you answer?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were my uncle.”
“And?”
“He asked if you had children.”
Grace and Leah both looked up.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
The word hurt.
At the time, that was what everyone believed.
Jessica continued.
“He never replied after that.”
Ortiz asked me to get the account identifier from Jessica.
She did.
Investigators began working.
Michael leaned against the wall.
“If Matthew knew Daniel’s name two years ago, Claire told him something.”
Anna nodded.
“Or Harlan found him.”
That possibility killed the small relief.
Rachel whispered, “What if he’s part of this?”
Leah said, “Part how?”
“The research.”
Grace frowned.
“Voluntarily?”
Rachel nodded.
Michael considered it.
“If he knew enough to search Daniel’s name, maybe.”
I hated how plausible it was.
“What genetic combination would he have?”
Michael answered.
“Same parents as Grace and Leah, but created from a different embryo.”
“So related variants.”
“Yes.”
“Harlan would want him.”
“Absolutely.”
“And David?”
“Yes.”
Ortiz’s phone rang.
She listened.
Then looked at me.
“We have an address.”
My chest tightened.
“Springfield?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Forty minutes from here.”
Everyone stared.
“Matt Harris moved six months ago.”
“To where?”
Ortiz turned the screen.
A suburban address outside Austin.
Rachel whispered, “He came here.”
Grace looked at me.
“Why?”
No one knew.
Then Ortiz added, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Employer.”
She turned the phone.
MERCY GENERAL HOSPITAL.
My skin went cold.
Position:
Facilities maintenance supervisor.
Leah laughed in disbelief.
“You have got to be kidding.”
Grace whispered, “He had access everywhere.”
Michael’s face tightened.
“Doors. Cameras. service corridors.”
Ortiz nodded.
“Freezers.”
“Transport routes.”
“Security infrastructure.”
I looked at Rachel.
Matthew had not merely moved near us.
He had entered the hospital at the center of everything.
Maybe searching.
Maybe helping.
Maybe watching.
Then Grace said, “The rear lock on David’s transport van.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Released remotely.”
Ortiz’s face changed.
Leah whispered, “Facilities access.”
Michael finished the thought.
“Matthew may have helped David escape.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 24: Matthew Harris Finally Stepped Out of Hiding, but His First Words Forced Daniel to Question Which Son Had Betrayed Them
Three Years After Our Divorce, Rachel Left Her Wedding Ring on My Pillow and Vanished Before I Woke
Part 23 of 43
