Chapter 6 - The Brother Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
My mother collapsed into a chair.
The man didn't move.
I stared at him.
Every part of me wanted to believe him.
Every part of me was terrified.
“Prove it,” I said.
He nodded.
“I knew you would ask.”
He reached into his jacket.
Daniel immediately stepped in front of me.
“Slowly.”
The man stopped.
“Fair.”
He pulled out a small photograph.
He placed it on the table.
It showed two children.
A little girl.
A little boy.
They were holding hands.
I recognized myself.
I recognized him.
My throat tightened.
“How did you get this?”
“You gave it to me.”
“I don't remember.”
“You were four.”
My mother whispered:
“Charles.”
He looked at her.
“You knew I was alive.”
She shook her head.
“I thought you were dead.”
“You wanted me to be.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Their eyes met.
The café seemed to disappear.
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
He sat down.
“When we were babies, Grandfather separated us.”
“Why?”
“He believed boys carried the family legacy.”
My mother nodded.
“He wanted you.”
“He wanted control.”
“What happened to you?”
Charles looked down.
“I was raised under another name.”
“Which name?”
“Robert.”
I looked toward the phone.
The man on the call.
“Then who was Robert?”
“My guardian.”
I felt dizzy.
The pieces began rearranging themselves.
Robert wasn't my brother.
He was the man who had protected my brother.
Thomas had known.
My mother had known.
Everyone had known except me.
“Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
Charles looked at my mother.
“Because she was afraid.”
“She should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't she?”
“Because someone was watching you.”
“Who?”
Charles leaned forward.
“The person who funded your father's escape.”
Daniel's expression changed.
“My father's escape?”
Charles nodded.
“Your father didn't disappear because he wanted to.”
My mother looked terrified.
“He was forced to leave.”
“By whom?”
Charles looked at the ledger.
“The foundation's chairman.”
I stared.
“My grandfather?”
“No.”
I froze.
“Then who?”
Charles answered:
“Your mother.”
My mouth opened.
She began crying.
“I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
She shook her head.
“If I hadn't done it, Emily would have been taken too.”
I looked at her.
“Taken where?”
She couldn't answer.
Charles did.
“To a boarding school controlled by the family.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather wanted to separate us completely.”
Daniel reached for my hand.
I held on.
Charles looked at my baby.
“He's why I came back.”
My chest tightened.
“What does my son have to do with this?”
“His name.”
I shook my head.
“Charles?”
“Yes.”
“But you said that wasn't your name.”
“It was once.”
My mother looked at him.
“That's why I chose it.”
I stared.
“You wanted me to name my son Charles because of him?”
She nodded.
“I thought if the name lived again, maybe I could forgive myself.”
I felt tears fall.
“You didn't ask me.”
“I know.”
“You announced it.”
“I know.”
“You made everyone believe we agreed.”
“I know.”
I looked at the baptismal gifts.
Suddenly they didn't seem like arrogance alone.
They were grief.
But grief didn't excuse what she had done.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Charles looked at it.
“Don't answer.”
I answered.
A man's voice said:
“Tell Charles to stop digging.”
My heart stopped.
Charles went still.
The voice continued:
“Or your son will be the next name on a blanket.”
The line went dead.
I looked at my baby.
Then at Charles.
“Who was that?”
Charles stood.
“We have to leave.”
Daniel picked up the diaper bag.
“Now?”
Charles nodded.
“Now.”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“Emily, listen to me.”
I turned.
Her eyes were filled with terror.
“Don't go with him.”
“Why?”
She looked toward Charles.
“Because he wasn't the only child they changed.”
Charles froze.
May you like
My mother whispered:
“There's another name on the original birth record...”
