Part 2 of 3

Rebecca didn’t flinch.

“Your father discovered the connection about two months ago when he began reopening the old records.”

Before I could respond, my phone rang.

Claire.

I answered.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“The hospital.”

“How is Walter?”

“Still in surgery.”

There was a pause.

Then she asked, “Did he give you anything?”

Every muscle in my body tightened.

“Why would you ask that?”

Silence.

“Ethan, come home. We need to talk.”

“Do you know about Andrew Bennett?”

The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.

Then Claire whispered, “Where did you hear that name?”

I hung up.

The Photograph Claire Had Never Explained

Dad came through surgery that evening, although the doctors warned me that his recovery would be slow.

When I was finally allowed to see him, he looked smaller than I had ever seen him, but the moment his eyes found mine, he tried to smile.

“You opened it?”

“Not yet. Rebecca showed me the records.”

He closed his eyes.

“Then you know about Andrew.”

“Your brother.”

He nodded.

“My biological father?”

His eyes opened again.

“Yes.”

I sat beside him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dad stared at our joined hands.

“Because Andrew got involved in something much bigger than he understood. When you were born, your mother was frightened that the people he had challenged might come looking for her and the baby. Andrew was already gone by then, and Laura had nowhere safe to go.”

His voice weakened.

“So I became your father.”

“You were already my uncle.”

A faint smile touched his face.

“Maybe technically. But I changed your diapers, taught you to throw a baseball, sat through those awful middle-school concerts and paid for braces. I figured I’d earned the promotion.”

Despite everything, I laughed.

Then his expression became serious.

“Ethan, Claire isn’t responsible for what her father did.”

That surprised me.

“Then why didn’t you want her seeing the envelope?”

Dad looked away.

“Because I didn’t know how much she knew.”

An hour later, I found Claire sitting alone in the hospital cafeteria.

She looked exhausted.

I sat across from her and placed Andrew’s photograph between us.

Her face changed immediately.

“You’ve seen him before,” I said.

She nodded.

“When?”

“After my father passed away, I found a box of his old papers. Your photograph was inside.”

I stared at her.

“Mine?”

“You were about sixteen.”

I felt as though someone had removed the floor beneath my chair.

“We’ve only known each other eight years.”

“I know.”

“So your father knew who I was before we met?”

Claire began crying.

“I think so.”

She told me that shortly before we met, her father had encouraged her to take a job at the nonprofit where I worked as a fundraising coordinator. At the time, she thought nothing of it. Years later, after we were married, she discovered photographs and documents suggesting her father had known my family for decades.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because by then he was gone, your life was normal, and I had no idea what any of it meant. Then Walter started asking me questions two months ago.”

Everything suddenly made sense.

Dad’s secrecy.

Claire’s defensiveness.

The money.

The documents.

“That’s why you’ve been angry with him.”

She wiped her face.

“I thought he was trying to convince you that our marriage had been arranged somehow, and I was terrified you’d look at everything we built together and wonder whether any of it was real.”

I did wonder.

For several painful seconds, I looked at the woman I had loved for eight years and couldn’t tell where coincidence ended and manipulation began.

Claire seemed to read the question on my face.

“I didn’t know who you were when I fell in love with you.”

Her voice trembled.

“Whatever our fathers did, Ethan, I chose you.”