Chapter 1 - My Daughter Found Her Twin in a Park Seven Years After I Buried Her MotherThe name on the back of the photograph was mine.
Marcus Blackwood.
I stared at it until the letters blurred.
My own name.
Written in my late wife's handwriting.
Beneath the name was a date.
Seven years earlier.
And beneath that, another sentence.
If anything happens to me, keep Emma away from Marcus.
My stomach turned.
“Dad?”
Lily's voice pulled me back.
I crouched beside her.
“What did you say?”
She pointed toward the girl sitting on the bench.
“She's my twin.”
Emma lowered her eyes.
She was wearing a thin gray sweater despite the November cold.
Her shoes were held together with tape.
Her teddy bear was missing one button eye.
But her face—
I couldn't stop looking at it.
The same heart-shaped face as Lily.
The same stubborn chin.
The same small nose.
And those green eyes.
Grace's eyes.
My wife's eyes.
I had spent seven years staring at our daughter's face and pretending I didn't see the ghost of my wife inside it.
Now I was staring at another child who looked like Lily had been photographed seven years earlier.
Frank moved closer.
“Boss.”
“Get the car.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I looked at Emma.
“First, find out who brought her here.”
Frank nodded.
One of my bodyguards approached the park entrance.
I turned back to the child.
“Emma.”
She glanced at me.
“Do you know me?”
She shook her head.
“Do you know the name Marcus?”
Her fingers tightened around the teddy bear.
She nodded once.
My blood chilled.
“Who is Marcus?”
“My aunt said I shouldn't say.”
“What happens if you do?”
“She gets angry.”
“Who is your aunt?”
“Karen.”
The same name she'd given me.
“Where is she?”
Emma looked toward the road.
“She said she would come back.”
“When?”
“Before lunch.”
I looked at my watch.
Almost five.
“She left you here this morning?”
Emma nodded.
“Did she give you food?”
“No.”
Lily immediately opened the small backpack she'd brought from home.
She took out a wrapped sandwich.
“Here.”
Emma stared.
“I can share.”
The little girl's eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
She took it with both hands.
She ate slowly.
Carefully.
As though she was afraid someone might take it away.
Lily watched.
“Do you like cheese?”
Emma nodded.
“I don't.”
Lily laughed.
“Neither do I.”
For the first time, Emma smiled.
Something inside me broke.
Two little girls.
Same face.
Same age.
Different lives.
One had grown up surrounded by everything money could buy.
The other had been abandoned on a park bench.
I turned toward Frank.
“I want a DNA test.”
He nodded.
“Tonight.”
“And find Karen.”
“We already have a team on it.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Grace.
Two babies.
One labeled Lily.
The other—
the other had been covered with a black marker.
I rubbed the paper gently.
Why had my wife hidden our second child?
Why had I never known?
And why had someone written my name on the back?
Lily touched my arm.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can Emma come home with us?”
I looked at her.
Then at Emma.
Emma was staring at us.
Afraid.
Hopeful.
Alone.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Emma looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I swallowed.
“Because it's too cold to stay here.”
She stared at me.
Then whispered:
“Thank you.”
As we walked toward the cars, Emma held Lily's hand.
They looked like sisters.
Not strangers.
Like something that had been broken apart had finally found its way back together.
We reached the vehicle.
Emma stopped.
Her face suddenly changed.
“What?”
She pointed toward the street.
A black sedan was parked behind a row of trees.
Someone was watching us.
I signaled security.
Two men moved immediately.
The sedan drove away.
Frank returned.
“Gone.”
“License?”
“Covered.”
I turned to Emma.
“Do you know that car?”
She nodded.
“That's the car my aunt used.”
My blood went cold.
“Karen drives that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Who else?”
Emma whispered:
“Uncle Marcus.”
I froze.
There was only one Marcus in my family.
My younger brother.
The man who had been beside me the day Grace died.
My closest friend.
The man I had trusted with my life.
I looked at the photograph.
Marcus must never know Emma survived.
Seven years.
Seven years since Grace supposedly died.
Seven years since doctors told me Lily was our only child.
Seven years since my brother had held my shoulder at the funeral and promised to help me raise her.
I felt something inside me begin to crack.
“Frank.”
“Yes?”
“Take Emma to the house.”
“And you?”
“I have to make a call.”
“To whom?”
I looked at the departing sedan.
“Marcus.”
I called my brother.
He answered on the second ring.
“Brother.”
His voice sounded perfectly normal.
Calm.
Friendly.
I asked:
“Where are you?”
“At the office.”
“Were you at Lincoln Park today?”
Silence.
Only half a second.
But I heard it.
“No.”
I looked at the photograph.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have meetings.”
I smiled without humor.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I hung up.
Then Frank received another call.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“The DNA kit team is on the way.”
“Good.”
“No.”
“What?”
He held up his phone.
“The laboratory says they found an old blood sample in our private records.”
“Whose?”
“Grace's.”
My heart stopped.
“Why would they have that?”
Frank looked at me.
“They said it was attached to a neonatal record.”
I froze.
“Whose record?”
“Two babies.”
My entire body went numb.
“One belongs to Lily.”
“And the other?”
Frank swallowed.
“Emma.”
The world went silent.
My wife had given birth to twins.
And somehow, everyone had allowed me to believe one of them had died.
Or disappeared.
Or never existed.
I looked toward the car.
Emma was sitting beside Lily.
My daughters.
Both of them.
May you like
Alive.
And somewhere in this city, someone had spent seven years making sure I never found out.
Related Stories
