Chapter 3 - The Child Who Wasn’t His
The document was a private laboratory report.
Claire read the names three times.
Natalie Whitmore.
Owen Parker.
Julian Mercer.
Probability of paternity: 99.9987%.
Claire stopped breathing.
Owen was Natalie’s twelve-year-old son.
Claire’s nephew.
The boy who called Julian Uncle Jules.
The child Claire had bought birthday presents for every year since he was born.
Natalie had always claimed Owen’s father was Daniel Parker, her college boyfriend who died overseas before Owen’s first birthday.
Claire remembered comforting her.
She remembered helping assemble Owen’s crib.
She remembered Julian holding the newborn and joking that fatherhood looked terrifying.
Twelve years ago.
Claire and Julian had already been married for two years.
Her hands began to shake.
The report had been commissioned seven years earlier.
One year before her father died.
Attached was an email from her father, Thomas Whitmore, to his private attorney.
I know what they have done.
I cannot confront Claire until I understand why Mercer married her.
Do not alert Evelyn.
I no longer trust my wife.
Claire stared at her mother’s name.
Evelyn.
Her mother knew?
The front door opened.
Claire slammed the laptop shut.
“Claire?”
Julian’s voice echoed from the foyer.
She looked at the clock.
8:04.
He had returned from the hotel.
Early.
Claire quickly slid the laptop into its case.
Julian entered the kitchen.
His smile disappeared when he saw her.
“What happened?”
Claire forced herself to look exhausted rather than shattered.
“Headache.”
“Why didn’t you bring the laptop?”
“I got almost home before I realized I left my wallet.”
He studied her.
For one terrifying second, Claire thought he knew.
Then Julian kissed her forehead.
The same mouth that had been on Natalie’s less than an hour earlier.
Claire nearly recoiled.
Instead, she smiled.
“Happy birthday to me.”
Julian laughed.
“I’m making it up to you this weekend.”
He reached for the laptop.
Claire let him take it.
Then Julian paused.
“Did you open it?”
Claire looked directly into his eyes.
“No.”
He relaxed.
“Good.”
Good.
That single word confirmed everything.
Julian carried the computer upstairs.
Claire waited until she heard the shower running.
Then she opened her phone.
Before closing the laptop, she had photographed every page.
Including the final email from her father.
The one she had not fully understood until now.
If anything happens to me, find Rebecca Hale.
She has the original.
Claire had never heard of Rebecca Hale.
But when she searched the name, one result appeared.
Rebecca Hale.
Probate attorney.
Retired.
May you like
And her office was less than forty miles away.
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