Chapter 7 - THE FATHER I BURIED
I knew him before the door fully opened.
Eleven years changed everything and nothing.
His hair had turned almost completely white.
His shoulders had narrowed.
A scar crossed the side of his forehead.
But the eyes were the same.
My eyes.
Thomas Carter stood on the porch and looked at me.
Then at Grace.
His face collapsed.
“Elena.”
I didn’t move.
He stepped inside.
“My little girl.”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“You don’t get to call me that.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I know.”
“You were alive.”
“Yes.”
“For eleven years.”
“Yes.”
“You could have called.”
“If I had—”
“You could have written.”
“Elena—”
“You watched me marry Adrian.”
His expression changed.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
“I learned after the wedding.”
“And still you stayed away.”
“I believed approaching you would expose you.”
I laughed through tears.
“So instead you let me sleep beside the son of the people who tried to kill you?”
His face twisted.
“I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes?”
My voice shook.
“I mourned you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You don’t know.”
“You didn’t stand beside Mom when she stopped setting your place at Thanksgiving.”
He lowered his head.
“You didn’t watch her stare through the window every time a car slowed down.”
“I know what I did to both of you.”
“My mother died believing you were dead.”
His eyes closed.
That landed.
Good.
I wanted it to hurt.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then Grace made a soft noise.
My father looked toward her.
His face changed again.
“Is that her?”
I swallowed.
“Grace.”
He smiled through tears.
“Your mother would have loved that name.”
I almost told him he had no right to mention her.
But Grace opened her eyes.
Thomas didn’t approach.
He waited.
That mattered.
Finally, I stepped close enough for him to see her.
He looked at his granddaughter as though she were something sacred.
“Hello, Grace.”
Then he whispered.
“I am so sorry you were born into this.”
I looked toward the metal box.
“Tell me what M-17 is.”
My father straightened.
“It began with Adrian’s birth.”
He opened the folder.
Inside were photocopies.
Lab reports.
Birth registrations.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
“One of Victor Vale’s affairs resulted in a pregnancy.”
I frowned.
“Adrian?”
“No.”
Thomas looked directly at me.
“Adrian was Eleanor Vale’s child.”
“But not Victor’s.”
“No.”
I remembered Luka saying the trust required biological descendants.
My father continued.
“Victor knew the baby wasn’t his.”
“So he falsified the records.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Eleanor’s father controlled the money.”
Thomas pulled out another document.
“If her marriage collapsed publicly, Victor lost everything.”
I stared at the paper.
“So Adrian grew up believing Victor was his father.”
My father’s expression darkened.
“He knows Victor isn’t.”
“When did he find out?”
“Long before he met you.”
My throat tightened.
“And he married me because of M-17?”
Thomas hesitated.
“I don’t know why Adrian first approached you.”
“But?”
“I know what he did after he learned who your father was.”
He reached deeper into the folder.
Then froze.
A section had been cut out.
Thomas’s face drained.
“No.”
Luka moved closer.
“What?”
“There should be three DNA envelopes.”
Only two remained.
May you like
My father looked at me.
“The last one is gone.”
