Chapter 6 - THE THREE MISSING YEARSThere are revelations that shock you.
Then there are revelations that make you question whether your own memories belong to you.
I remembered being four.
Not clearly.
Fragments.
A yellow kitchen.
A dog named Pepper.
A woman singing while washing dishes.
A swing hanging from a large oak tree.
For my entire life, I'd assumed those memories belonged to our house before the renovation.
But our house had never had a yellow kitchen.
We'd never owned a dog named Pepper.
And there had never been an oak tree in our backyard.
Laura confirmed it.
“Pepper was Rebecca's dog.”
I sat frozen.
“Where did she live?”
“Roanoke.”
“Was the kitchen yellow?”
Laura's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
I had lived with Rebecca.
My biological mother.
“Until I was four?”
“No.”
Laura hesitated.
“You were with her about six months.”
“Then what?”
“Diane took you.”
I stared at her.
“Just took me?”
“She had visitation rights.”
“Did she bring me back?”
“No.”
Rebecca reported me missing.
Police became involved.
But Diane and Richard had already left Virginia.
They stayed with distant relatives in several states.
Back then, records didn't move as seamlessly as they do now.
Names were altered.
Documents were changed.
Lawyers became involved.
My grandparents pressured Rebecca to stop pursuing criminal charges.
Eventually, Diane returned with me.
By then, I was nearly four.
“How did she get custody after kidnapping me?”
Laura's mouth tightened.
“Money.”
Richard hired better attorneys.
Rebecca was portrayed as unstable.
Her earlier financial problems and depression were used against her.
Diane argued that removing me again would cause psychological harm.
A judge awarded temporary guardianship.
Temporary became permanent.
I felt anger so sharp that it became strangely calm.
“So everyone knew?”
“Not everyone.”
“My grandparents?”
“Yes.”
“They let me grow up believing Diane gave birth to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Shame. Fear. Cowardice.”
At least Laura didn't dress it up.
I agreed to meet Richard the following day.
Not alone.
Agent Reed sat nearby.
My attorney sat beside me.
Dad wore a navy suit without a tie.
He looked exhausted.
He also looked exactly like my father.
That was the cruel part.
No revelation could erase twenty-nine years of instinct.
When he entered, part of me still recognized the man who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who checked the closet for monsters.
The man who cried at my high school graduation.
Humans are inconveniently complicated.
Terrible people can possess tender memories.
That doesn't redeem them.
It merely makes betrayal harder.
Dad sat across from me.
“You look tired.”
I almost laughed.
“That's your opening?”
“I don't know what you expect me to say.”
“How about the truth?”
“You think truth is simple.”
“I think stealing from elderly people is.”
He flinched.
Good.
“You don't understand what happened to the company.”
“I don't care.”
“I built it from nothing.”
“With other people's money?”
He looked away.
I leaned forward.
“Tell me about Rebecca.”
Dad remained silent for a while.
Then he spoke.
“Your mother wanted another child.”
“Diane.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“She raised you.”
“Diane.”
“Fine.”
He sighed.
“Diane wanted a daughter. After Nathan, doctors told us another pregnancy was unlikely. Rebecca was nineteen, unmarried, terrified.”
“Did she agree to adoption?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
At least he didn't lie about that.
“She let us help.”
“You mean take me.”
“At first, Rebecca was grateful.”
“Then she wanted me back.”
“She was inconsistent.”
“She had custody.”
Dad looked toward the table.
“She did.”
“And Diane kidnapped me.”
“We believed you were safer with us.”
“You hid me for three years.”
“Not three years.”
“What?”
“You were returned to Rebecca temporarily during that period.”
My stomach tightened.
“How many times?”
“Twice.”
I looked at Laura.
She hadn't known.
Dad continued.
“Your mother—Diane—couldn't accept losing you.”
“So she kept taking me.”
“She believed you belonged with us.”
“Children aren't property.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Silence.
I asked the question that had bothered me most.
“Why tell everyone I was in prison?”
Dad's eyes hardened.
“Because people were asking questions.”
“What people?”
“Clients. Investigators.”
“You needed someone to blame.”
“I needed time.”
“You destroyed my reputation for time?”
“You weren't here!”
There it was again.
The family justification.
Absence made me available for sacrifice.
Dad lowered his voice.
“If you'd stayed, none of this would have happened.”
I stared at him.
“You believe that?”
“You leaving destabilized Diane.”
“My enlistment made you steal millions?”
“Don't twist my words.”
“You're doing fine without my help.”
Agent Reed shifted, but remained silent.
I looked directly at Dad.
“Did you expect me to die overseas?”
His face changed.
Very slightly.
Enough.
“The insurance policy.”
Dad looked toward Reed.
“I've been advised not to discuss financial documents.”
“I'm not asking about financial documents.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“Were you hoping I wouldn't come home?”
“No.”
“Did you ever do anything to make sure I wouldn't?”
My attorney touched my arm.
Dad stared at me.
Then he said something I didn't expect.
“I protected you.”
“From whom?”
“Diane.”
The room became still.
I almost stood.
“Don't.”
“You asked for truth.”
“Don't turn this into blaming her for everything.”
“I'm not.”
He leaned forward.
“Your mother became obsessed with controlling you after Rebecca died.”
“Rebecca died six months ago.”
“Not Rebecca.”
I frowned.
“Diane.”
I stared.
He corrected himself.
“The woman you think of as your mother.”
“You said she became obsessed after Rebecca died.”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“I misspoke.”
Agent Reed spoke for the first time.
“No, you didn't.”
Dad looked at him.
Reed leaned forward.
“Who died?”
Dad said nothing.
A horrible suspicion moved through me.
The records.
The photographs Mom burned.
Three women beside a lake.
Diane.
Rebecca.
Laura.
Unless the labels were wrong.
Unless identities had become another family story.
I remembered Rebecca's letter.
If Diane has told you I am your aunt...
What if the letter's author wasn't Rebecca?
“What are you hiding?” I whispered.
Dad's face collapsed.
Not dramatically.
It simply lost all resistance.
“Emily, there are secrets that began before you were born.”
“I don't care when they began.”
“You will.”
“Who is Diane?”
He closed his eyes.
“Your biological mother's sister.”
“I know that.”
“No.”
He opened his eyes.
“I mean the woman you've been calling Diane isn't Diane.”
Silence swallowed the room.
I couldn't process the sentence.
“Say that again.”
“The real Diane Carter died twenty-six years ago.”
I stared at him.
“That is insane.”
“I know.”
“Then who raised me?”
Dad didn't answer.
Agent Reed stood.
“Richard?”
Dad looked toward the mirrored observation window.
Then back at me.
“Rebecca.”
My chair scraped backward.
“No.”
“The woman in our house... the woman you call Mom... is Rebecca.”
“No.”
“She switched identities with Diane after Diane died.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
My brain refused to accept it.
If true, my biological mother had been with me all along.
Not as my mother.
As my aunt pretending to be my adoptive mother.
“What happened to Diane?”
Dad's voice became barely audible.
“Car accident.”
“And why switch identities?”
“Because Diane had legal guardianship of you.”
The horror of it began assembling itself.
Rebecca wanted me.
Diane had custody.
Diane died.
Rebecca assumed Diane's identity so she wouldn't lose me again.
“What about the Rebecca who died six months ago?”
Dad looked miserable.
“A woman named Susan Cole.”
I stood.
“Stop.”
“Your mother paid her for years.”
“Stop.”
“To maintain the identity.”
“STOP!”
The word echoed.
I pressed both hands against the table.
Everything was backwards.
Every person.
Every relationship.
Every story.
I turned toward Agent Reed.
“Is this possible?”
“We'll verify it.”
Dad whispered, “There's a DNA test.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“Home safe.”
Agents searched it that afternoon.
They found the test.
Dated eighteen years earlier.
Probability of maternity:
99.99%.
The woman who had slapped me with lies, forged my handwriting, destroyed my reputation and called 911 when I came home...
was my biological mother.
I didn't know whether that made things better.
It made them infinitely worse.
Because she'd spent my entire life fighting to keep me.
And after finally succeeding, she'd helped turn me into the villain of a crime I never committed.
That evening, I received one final message from Dad's attorney.
Richard wanted a plea agreement.
In exchange, he was prepared to identify every person involved in the financial scheme.
Including “Diane Carter.”
Except there was no Diane Carter anymore.
There was Rebecca Donovan.
My biological mother.
May you like
And according to Dad, Rebecca hadn't just helped hide the money.
She had designed the plan that put my name on it.
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