Chương 12
“Why?”
“He had children by then.”
Daniel gave a bitter smile.
“Of course he did.”
“Two sons.”
“My brothers.”
“Biologically.”
“Do they know?”
“No.”
Daniel looked out at the garden.
A child at another table dropped a fork.
His mother picked it up and handed him another without interrupting her conversation.
Daniel watched them.
Then he said, “I want a DNA test.”
Rebecca nodded immediately.
“All right.”
“With you first.”
“All right.”
“And if that confirms it, I want one from Andrew.”
Rebecca’s face tightened.
“I can ask.”
“No.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I’ll ask.”
The distinction mattered.
Rebecca nodded.
“All right.”
They spent three hours together.
Not all of it on secrets.
Rebecca asked what kind of architect Daniel was.
He explained commercial adaptive reuse and then apologized for explaining it badly.
She said she used to do bookkeeping for a contractor and had learned that architects believed walls moved more easily than invoices.
Daniel laughed.
Claire watched his shoulders loosen.
Rebecca asked nothing about children until Daniel raised the subject.
“We don’t have any.”
Rebecca’s eyes flicked to Claire.
“Margaret told me you were trying.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
Rebecca saw it.
“She shouldn’t have.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Rebecca did not ask more.
That helped.
Near the end, Daniel said, “Why did you wait after Dad died?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“I was afraid Margaret would lose you.”
He stared.
“She already had me.”
“No. She had your love.”
Daniel said nothing.
Rebecca folded the napkin smaller.
“I hated her for years. Then I got older, and hating her became harder.”
“Why?”
“Because I understood what Thomas had done to her too.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“She stayed.”
“Yes.”
“She lied.”
“Yes.”
“She had choices.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca’s voice remained quiet.
“So did I.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I’m not asking you to forgive her.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying I stopped being able to divide the story into the woman who stole my baby and the woman who lost him.”
Claire saw Daniel glance down.
Rebecca added, “Some stories are easier before you know everybody.”
They left the café at four.
Rebecca asked whether Daniel wanted a hug.
He said not yet.
She nodded.
No visible hurt.
Or at least she hid it well.
In the parking lot, Daniel stopped before getting into the rental car.
Claire waited.
He said, “I like her.”
“You’re allowed.”
“I’m angry at her.”
“You’re allowed that too.”
“That feels inefficient.”
Claire smiled.
“Families are famous for efficiency.”
He leaned against the car.
“She knows how I pause before I answer.”
“You noticed.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the café entrance.
“I thought meeting her would tell me who I am.”
“And?”
“It told me she puts too much sugar in iced tea.”
Claire nodded.
“Devastating.”
Daniel laughed.
Then his face folded, and he looked away.
Claire stood beside him.
After a minute, he said, “I’m glad we came.”
They completed the DNA test through a clinic rather than a consumer ancestry site because Daniel wanted clear identity verification.
The results came back two weeks later.
Rebecca was his biological mother.
There had never been much doubt by then, but the confirmation affected him anyway.
He printed the report.
Then he put it in a kitchen drawer under takeout menus.
Claire found that strangely comforting.
Important things did not always need velvet boxes.
Andrew Cole was harder.
Daniel found him in Florida.
Seventy-six, retired, still married to the same woman he had married before Daniel was born.
Daniel wrote a letter.
Not email.
He wanted the physical act of sending it.
Andrew called three days after receiving it.
Daniel took the call in the backyard.
Claire watched through the kitchen window but could hear only his side.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking you for money.”
A pause.
“No, I’m not threatening you.”
Longer pause.
“I want a DNA test.”
Daniel paced.
“That’s not an answer.”
He stopped.
“Mr. Cole, you have had thirty-eight years to worry about your family. I have had three weeks to find out mine isn’t what I thought.”
Another pause.
“I’m not going public. I’m not contacting your sons. I’m asking you privately.”
His face tightened.
“No. Rebecca did not put me up to this.”
He listened.
Then: “Because I want the truth.”
The call lasted twenty-six minutes.
When he came inside, Claire was pretending not to wait.
“Well?”
“He’ll do it.”
“Really?”
“He wants a confidentiality agreement first.”
Claire blinked.
“Of course he does.”
Daniel laughed without humor.
“He offered to pay for a lawyer to draft it.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I have my own lawyer.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Claire stared at him.
Daniel shrugged.
“I panicked.”
They hired one.
Not to sue anyone.
To understand the adoption records, the confidentiality request, and whether accessing older sealed court files was possible.
The attorney, Marisol Vega, listened to the story without reacting dramatically.
That alone made Daniel trust her.
She explained that records from decades-old adoptions could involve sealing rules, incomplete files, procedural changes, and practical limits. She would not promise a clean answer.
Daniel appreciated that too.
She reviewed the documents from Margaret’s box.
“This affidavit bothers me,” she said, pointing to the claim that Rebecca’s location was unknown.
“Illegal?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Daniel nodded.
Marisol continued, “I’m saying it conflicts with other dated evidence. That is worth examining.”
“Can anything happen to Thomas?”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you asking?”
Daniel sat back.
Claire watched him struggle.
Finally he said, “I don’t know.”
Marisol nodded.
“That’s actually useful.”
“How?”
“Because you should decide what you need before the process decides for you.”
Daniel glanced at Claire.
Marisol said, “Do you want corrected records? Information? A declaration about what occurred? Money? Public accountability? Medical history? Contact with biological relatives? Those are different goals.”
Daniel looked at the file.
“I want my life to stop changing every time I open an envelope.”
Marisol’s expression softened.
May you like
“That one I can’t file for.”
The DNA test with Andrew was positive.
