Part 4
For a moment, nobody moved.
Judge William Mercer’s name seemed to fill the entire house.
His photograph had hung in the courthouse for as long as I could remember. He had delivered speeches at church picnics, funded school scholarships and sat in the front pew every Sunday beside his perfectly dressed wife.
In our town, people did not merely respect Judge Mercer.
They feared him.
I stared at Caleb.
“What was he protecting?”
Caleb glanced at my parents.
Neither of them would look at me.
“My father left more than your letters in his safe,” Caleb said. “There were payment records, hospital documents and copies of sealed court orders.”
He removed a folded sheet from his jacket.
At the top was the letterhead of the Mercer Family Foundation.
The date was three weeks after the twins were born.
The payment was listed as a community stabilization grant.
The recipient was Caleb’s father.
The amount was fifty thousand dollars.
“What was this for?” I asked.
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“To move me out of Alabama.”
I remembered how suddenly he disappeared.
One day, he was promising to find a job and help me raise our baby.
Three weeks later, his house was empty.
The curtains were gone.
The truck was gone.
Even the FOR SALE sign had already been planted in the yard.
“I went to your house every day,” I whispered.
“I didn’t know.”
“I called your number until it was disconnected.”
“My father took my phone.”
“I wrote you.”
He lifted the bundle of unopened letters.
“I never received them.”
The pain in his voice sounded almost identical to mine.
Two teenagers had spent twenty years believing the other had walked away.
And all the while, our parents had possessed the truth.
Caleb unfolded another document.
“This was signed by Judge Mercer.”
It was an order authorizing the immediate sealing of two infant birth records.
The document stated that disclosure could cause substantial harm to a minor and threaten the safety of the adoptive families.
But there was something strange at the bottom.
My signature appeared beside the words CONSENTING BIOLOGICAL MOTHER.
I stared at it.
“That isn’t my signature.”
“I know,” Caleb said.
My mother turned toward the window.
Emma stepped closer to the paper.
“You’re saying someone forged her name?”
“Yes.”
Noah looked at my grandparents.
“Who?”
My father covered his mouth as another cough shook his body.
My mother answered for him.
“It was a complicated situation.”
“No,” I said. “It was a crime.”
“You don’t know what Judge Mercer was capable of.”
“Then tell me.”
Her silence infuriated me.
I stepped toward her.
“You threw me out. You took my daughter. You sold my son. You helped forge documents that said I was dead.”
“I did what I had to do!”
“For whom?”
“For everyone!”
“No. You did it for yourself.”
My mother’s face twisted.
“You think you understand because you came back wearing an expensive coat and driving a luxury car?”
“This has nothing to do with money.”
“It has everything to do with money.”
She pointed around the crumbling house.
“Your father’s business was failing. The bank was threatening foreclosure. We were drowning in debt. Then you came home pregnant and expected us to solve another disaster.”
“I expected you to be my parents.”
“We could barely feed ourselves.”
“You had enough money to tithe to the church every Sunday.”
“Because appearances mattered!”
The confession escaped before she could stop it.
Emma stared at her.
“Appearances?”
My mother’s voice lowered.
“In a town like this, reputation decides whether people hire you, lend you money or even speak to you. Your pregnancy would have destroyed us.”
“So you destroyed me first.”
She flinched.
But I was no longer the frightened girl begging at the door.
“You wanted the neighbors to believe you were righteous,” I continued. “You let your pregnant daughter sleep in an attic to protect your reputation.”
“I didn’t know where you were sleeping.”
“You never asked.”
My father began to cry silently.
My mother looked toward him.
“Stop that.”
He wiped his face.
“She’s right.”
“Walter—”
“We never asked.”
His voice was weak.
“We didn’t know whether she had food. We didn’t know whether she was safe. We knew nothing because we chose to know nothing.”
My mother gripped her cane harder.
“You agreed with every decision.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“And I will carry that shame until I die.”
Emma turned toward Caleb.
“What does Judge Mercer have to do with any of this?”
Caleb’s expression darkened.
“My father worked as an investigator for Mercer.”
I remembered Caleb’s father as a quiet man who wore polished boots and rarely smiled.
“He wasn’t a police officer,” I said.
“No. He handled problems the judge didn’t want attached to the courthouse.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Witnesses who needed to change their stories. Families who needed to leave town. Records that needed to disappear.”
Noah unfolded his DNA report and stared at it as if it might explain his entire life.
“My adoption was one of those problems?”
Caleb nodded.
“But not the first.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Caleb looked directly at her.
“You already knew that.”
She said nothing.
“You worked with them,” Caleb continued.
Emma turned slowly toward her grandmother.
“What is he talking about?”
My mother sat down.
For the first time, she looked old.
Not merely elderly.
Defeated.
“Judge Mercer began helping childless couples many years ago,” she said.
“Helping?” Noah asked bitterly.
“There were young girls who became pregnant. Girls with nowhere to go. Families who could provide stable homes.”
“And large payments,” Caleb added.
My mother’s lips tightened.
“The foundation accepted donations.”
“You mean wealthy people bought babies.”
“That is not what happened.”
“Then what did happen?”
She looked at me.
I saw the answer before she spoke.
“You found the girls,” I whispered.
My father shut his eyes.
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
My mother’s voice was almost inaudible.
“The church had a women’s assistance committee.”
I remembered it.
Women in pastel dresses collecting canned food and maternity clothes.
Women who smiled at unmarried pregnant girls and whispered behind their backs.
“You were on that committee,” I said.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
My mother looked away.
“How many girls did you send to Judith Vale?”
“I didn’t count.”
My stomach turned.
“You didn’t count?”
“We believed we were helping.”
“You collected their babies.”
“We placed children with good families.”
“Did the mothers consent?”
“Most of them.”
“Most?”
Emma backed away from her grandmother.
My mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“Some of the girls were frightened. Some changed their minds. Judge Mercer believed young women were too emotional to make responsible decisions.”
Noah let out a cold laugh.
“So he made the decisions for them.”
“He had decades of experience.”
“He was a judge, not God.”
My mother’s voice rose.
“You have no idea how many children were saved!”
“Saved from their mothers?” I asked.
“Saved from poverty.”
“You mean poverty like the kind you forced me into?”
She looked down.
That was answer enough.
Caleb stepped farther into the room.
“My father’s safe contained twelve files.”
My mother’s head lifted sharply.
“Twelve?”
“So there were more?”
Her reaction confirmed it.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed.
“How many files should there have been?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said you didn’t count.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you know twelve isn’t all of them.”
My mother pressed her lips together.
My father pointed toward the black address book still lying on the table.
“Judith kept the complete records.”
My mother turned on him.
“You don’t know that.”
“She told me.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
The room fell silent.
I stared at my father.
“You spoke to Judith last year?”
He nodded.
“After my diagnosis.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to know whether there was any way to find Noah.”
Noah’s face changed.
“You were looking for me?”
“I wanted to make one thing right before I died.”
“You had nineteen years.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you look sooner?”
“Because I was weak.”
Noah stared at him for several seconds.
Then he looked away.
My father continued.
“Judith said she had kept copies of everything. She was afraid Mercer would eventually blame her for the entire operation.”
“Where are the records?” Caleb asked.
“She wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“But she agreed to meet?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
My father’s gaze shifted toward the window.
“Tomorrow.”
My mother stood so abruptly that her cane fell again.
“You contacted her?”
“I told her I was ready to confess.”
“You stupid, selfish man.”
“No,” he said. “For once, I am thinking about someone other than myself.”
My mother’s face filled with terror.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
Caleb stepped toward her.
“Judge Mercer is retired. He’s almost eighty.”
My mother laughed once.
The sound chilled me.
“You think retirement made him powerless?”
No one answered.
“Mercer owns half this county,” she continued. “The sheriff attended his daughter’s wedding. The district attorney began his career in Mercer’s chambers. The hospital board still meets in a building bearing his name.”
“And that excuses you?” I asked.
“No. It explains why you need to leave.”
“You’re worried about us?”
“I’m worried about Emma.”
Emma stared at her.
“Why only me?”
My mother hesitated.
Noah saw it.
“Because you still think I’m disposable.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
Emma moved beside her brother.
“You don’t get to separate us again.”
My mother’s face crumpled.
“I raised you.”
“You raised me inside a lie.”
“I changed your diapers. I stayed awake when you were sick. I taught you to read.”
“And every night, you knew my mother was alive.”
“I was your mother.”
Emma’s voice softened, but that only made it more painful.
“You were the only mother I knew.”
My mother reached toward her.
Emma stepped back.
“But now I don’t know who you are.”
My mother’s hand fell.
I watched the woman who had once thrown me into a storm realize that she was losing the child she had stolen to replace me.
Part of me expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt only exhaustion.
“I’m going to Mobile,” I said.
Caleb nodded.
“I’m coming.”
“So are we,” Emma added.
My mother shook her head.
“No. Emma, you’re staying here.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You have college orientation next week.”
“You lied about my entire life, and you’re worried about orientation?”
“I’m worried about your future.”
“My future belongs to me.”
Noah picked up his backpack from beside the staircase.
“I’m ready.”
I looked at my father.
“What about you?”
He glanced at the oxygen tank.
“I wouldn’t survive the drive.”
“Then give me everything you know.”
He nodded toward the hallway.
“There’s a box under the loose floorboard in your old bedroom.”
My old bedroom.
I had not climbed those stairs in twenty years.
The wallpaper in the hallway was faded, but the marks on the wall were still there.
Small pencil lines recorded my height from ages six to fifteen.
My mother had written the dates beside each one.
The final mark stopped just below my shoulder.
There should have been more.
I pushed open the bedroom door.
For a moment, I became sixteen again.
The bed was gone, replaced by stacks of cardboard boxes.
The posters had been stripped from the walls.
But one pale patch remained where a photograph of Caleb and me once hung.
Emma entered behind me.
“This was your room?”
“Yes.”
“I slept here when I was little.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Until I was eight. Then Grandma moved me across the hall.”
My daughter had slept in my room beneath the roof from which I had been banished.
Emma noticed my expression.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
We found the loose floorboard beneath the window.
Noah used a screwdriver from the hallway closet to pry it up.
A metal cashbox rested below it.
Inside were photographs, canceled checks and hospital records.
There was also a small cassette tape.
Caleb picked it up.
A handwritten label read:
JUDITH—AUGUST 18.
“The day after the twins were born,” I said.
Noah found an old cassette player in the closet.
The batteries had corroded, but Caleb used an adapter from his car to power it.
We gathered around the machine.
The tape hissed.
Then my mother’s younger voice filled the room.
“She cannot know there were two.”
A man answered.
I recognized Judge Mercer immediately.
His voice had once echoed through church services and graduation ceremonies.
“Memory loss after hemorrhage is common,” he said. “Dr. Hayes will document that only one infant was delivered.”
“And the boy?”
“The Caldwells will take him.”
“They offered twenty-five.”
“That is sufficient.”
“What about the girl?”
“You may keep her, provided you follow the arrangement exactly.”
My mother lowered her voice.
“And if my daughter comes back?”
“She won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we will make certain the Monroe boy believes the infants died. Without him, she has no support.”
Caleb shut his eyes.
The recording continued.
My mother sounded nervous.
“And if she searches for the adoption records?”
Judge Mercer chuckled.
“She will find the records we permit her to find.”
The tape clicked off.
No one spoke.
There was no longer any question.
No misunderstanding.
No desperate parents making one terrible decision.
It had been planned.
Organized.
Profitable.
Emma sat on the edge of a box.
Noah stared at the cassette player.
Caleb’s hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
I felt strangely calm.
Maybe there was a point beyond rage where the body became too exhausted to react.
I placed the tape in my handbag.
“This comes with us.”
My mother stood in the doorway.
None of us had heard her approach.
Her face was pale.
“You need to destroy that.”
“No.”
“Mercer will destroy all of you.”
“He already destroyed twenty years of our lives.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
She looked toward Emma.
“Judge Mercer never forgives betrayal.”
I stepped closer.
“Good.”
My voice surprised even me.
“Neither do I.”
We left before sunset.
Emma packed a single suitcase.
Noah carried his backpack.
Caleb followed in his truck while the twins rode with me.
For the first hour, no one spoke.
Emma watched the trees blur past the window.
Noah sat in the back seat, rereading the copied adoption documents.
I wanted to ask them a thousand questions.
What foods they liked.
What songs they listened to.
Whether they were afraid of thunderstorms.
Whether they had ever wondered why their eyes looked different from everyone else’s.
But every question felt too small and too late.
Finally, Emma spoke.
“Did you ever have other children?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
“After the adoption, I told myself I needed to become stable before I tried again.”
“And then?”
“By the time my life became stable, I was afraid.”
“Of losing another baby?”
“Yes.”
She nodded but kept looking out the window.
Noah leaned forward.
“Did you keep anything from the hospital?”
“One photograph.”
“The one you showed us?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
I reached beneath my blouse and pulled out the thin gold chain I had worn for two decades.
A tiny hospital identification tag hung from it.
The lettering had nearly worn away.
BABY GIRL—AUG 17.
“The nurse removed it from Emma’s wrist before taking her,” I said. “I found it tangled in the blanket.”
Emma stared at the tag.
“You wore that every day?”
“Every day.”
Her eyes filled, but she turned away before the tears fell.
We arrived in Mobile shortly after ten that night.
Judith Vale lived in a small yellow house near the bay, surrounded by enormous oak trees draped in Spanish moss.
No porch light was on.
Caleb parked behind me.
“This feels wrong,” he said.
“What does?”
“She knows we’re coming. Why is the house dark?”
Noah pointed toward the driveway.
“There’s a car.”
We approached together.
Caleb knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
“Judith?”
A curtain moved inside.
Then several locks clicked.
The door opened two inches.
An elderly woman peered through the gap.
Her hair was white now, but I recognized the silver-framed glasses.
She looked at me.
Then at the twins.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
“You remember me,” I said.
She attempted to close the door.
Caleb blocked it with his foot.
“We need to talk.”
“I can’t help you.”
“You already helped destroy our lives.”
Her eyes filled with panic.
“You shouldn’t have brought the children here.”
“We’re not children,” Noah said.
Judith looked past us toward the street.
“Did anyone follow you?”
“No,” Caleb replied.
“You don’t know that.”
She unlocked the chain.
“Get inside. Quickly.”
The living room smelled of dust and lavender.
Every curtain was closed.
Cardboard boxes filled one wall.
Judith locked the door behind us and turned off the hall lamp.
Emma crossed her arms.
“Why are you hiding?”
“Because I made the mistake of calling Walter.”
“You told him you had records,” I said.
“I should never have done that.”
“Why did you?”
Judith looked at the twins.
“Because I am dying.”
The words landed heavily.
“Pancreatic cancer,” she continued. “The doctors say I may have three months.”
Noah shook his head.
“Everyone waited until they were dying to develop a conscience.”
Judith accepted the accusation without protest.
“You’re right.”
She sat in an armchair.
“I told myself for years that I was helping desperate girls. That the babies went to good homes. That Judge Mercer understood the law better than I did.”
“You forged my consent,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You told me my baby was being adopted by strangers.”
“Yes.”
“You watched my parents take her.”
“Yes.”
Each answer came quietly.
Without excuses.
That somehow made them worse.
“How many mothers?” Emma asked.
Judith looked toward the boxes.
“Forty-seven confirmed cases.”
My stomach turned.
“Forty-seven?”
“Some involved one child. Some involved twins.”
“Were all the mothers teenagers?”
“Most. A few were adult women with addictions, disabilities or no family support.”
“Did they consent?”
Judith’s eyes lowered.
“Not always.”
Noah walked toward the boxes.
“These are the files?”
“No.”
“Where are they?”
“A safe place.”
Caleb placed both hands on the back of a chair.
“We have a recording of Mercer arranging the twins’ adoptions.”
Judith’s head snapped up.
“A recording?”
“My father hid it.”
“Where is it now?”
“With us.”
Her fear deepened.
“You need to make copies immediately.”
“I already uploaded one to secure storage,” I said.
That was the advantage of building a technology-driven company.
I had photographed every document before leaving Alabama and sent encrypted copies to my attorney in Denver.
Judith seemed slightly relieved.
“Good.”
“Now tell us why Mercer paid our families.”
“He paid every family who cooperated.”
“That isn’t what Caleb said. He said Mercer was protecting himself.”
Judith removed her glasses.
For several seconds, she polished them with the edge of her sweater.
“Judge Mercer created the placement network after his wife suffered multiple miscarriages. Publicly, he claimed he wanted to help childless couples.”
“And privately?” Emma asked.
“He wanted influence.”
Judith put her glasses back on.
“Wealthy couples donated to his foundation. Business owners, attorneys, politicians. In return, Mercer found them infants with no waiting lists and no questions.”
“He sold babies for favors,” Noah said.
“Yes.”
“Why was our case different?”
Judith stared at me.
“Because your mother was not merely a recruiter.”
A cold sensation moved down my spine.
“What was she?”
“Mercer’s bookkeeper.”
I thought of my mother serving on the church committee.
Collecting donation envelopes.
Keeping meticulous records in small leather notebooks.
“She handled the money?”
“For almost nine years.”
Caleb shook his head.
“That’s why Mercer paid her.”
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
Judith glanced toward the closed curtains.
“Linda copied the ledger.”
My heart quickened.
“Why?”
“Insurance. She knew Mercer would sacrifice anyone to protect himself.”
“Where is the copy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Mercer?”
“He knows it existed.”
Emma sank onto the sofa.
“That’s why Grandma was afraid.”
Judith nodded.
“After the twins were born, Linda threatened to expose the entire operation unless Mercer helped her keep the girl and solve the family’s financial problems.”
I struggled to process it.
My mother had not been a powerless participant.
She had blackmailed the most powerful man in the county.
“And Noah?” I asked.
“The Caldwells had been waiting for a healthy infant boy. Mercer saw an opportunity to satisfy them while paying your mother enough to remain quiet.”
Noah stared at the floor.
“My whole life was part of a business transaction.”
Judith’s voice softened.
“Your adoptive mother loved you.”
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know I had a twin?”
“No.”
“Did she know my biological mother was alive?”
Judith hesitated.
“At first.”
Noah looked up.
“At first?”
“She was told you had been surrendered by a living mother. But several months later, Margaret began asking questions. She wanted medical records. Mercer ordered us to send her a revised file stating that your mother died during delivery.”
Noah’s eyes filled.
“So she believed the lie too.”
“Yes.”
I placed my hand on his shoulder.
He did not pull away.
It was the first time I had touched my son.
The contact lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like placing my hand against a door I had been searching for all my life.
Judith rose slowly.
“There is something you need to see.”
She walked toward the kitchen and removed a key from beneath a ceramic bowl.
Then she opened a narrow door leading to the basement.
Caleb turned on his phone flashlight.
We followed Judith down a steep wooden staircase.
The basement was cold and damp.
Shelves were stacked with canned food, old books and cleaning supplies.
Judith moved a metal cabinet away from the wall.
Behind it was a small square safe.
She entered the combination.
Inside were three thick folders, a flash drive and a leather ledger.
My mother’s handwriting covered the ledger’s first page.
Dates.
Initials.
Dollar amounts.
Hospital room numbers.
Judges.
Doctors.
Adoptive families.
Forty-seven stolen lives reduced to columns of ink.
Emma covered her mouth.
“This could put people in prison.”
Judith nodded.
“If the right prosecutor receives it.”
Caleb flipped through several pages.
“Some of these names are still in office.”
“Yes.”
“A state senator.”
“Yes.”
“A hospital director.”
“Yes.”
“The sheriff.”
Judith said nothing.
Caleb looked at her.
“The sheriff received a child?”
“No.”
“Then why is his name here?”
“He was paid to retrieve a mother who tried to leave the hospital with her baby.”
The basement seemed to grow colder.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
Judith closed her eyes.
“She was brought back.”
“And the baby?”
“Placed with a family in Florida.”
“And the mother?”
“I don’t know.”
Noah shook his head.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I stopped asking questions because every answer made me more guilty.”
Emma picked up the flash drive.
“What’s on this?”
“Scanned documents. Recordings. Photographs.”
“Enough to expose Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you gone to the police?”
Judith looked at the ledger.
“Because three years ago, another nurse tried.”
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“Her car went off a bridge.”
Caleb stiffened.
“Accident?”
“The official report said she fell asleep.”
“And you don’t believe it.”
“She called me thirty minutes before she died. She said someone was following her.”
A sound came from upstairs.
A soft thump.
Judith immediately turned off the basement light.
We stood in darkness.
No one breathed.
Another sound followed.
The creak of the kitchen floor.
Someone was inside the house.
Judith grabbed my arm.
“There’s a back exit.”
Caleb whispered, “Stay behind me.”
He climbed the stairs slowly.
Noah followed.
I held Emma’s hand.
She gripped mine tightly.
At the top of the staircase, the kitchen appeared empty.
But the back door was open.
The deadbolt had been broken.
A humid breeze moved the curtains.
Caleb checked the hallway.
“No one.”
Judith rushed to the living room window and pulled the curtain aside by one inch.
Her face drained of color.
“What?” I asked.
“A black SUV.”
I looked outside.
The vehicle was parked across the street with its lights off.
“Was it there when we arrived?” Caleb asked.
“No.”
Emma took out her phone.
“We should call the police.”
Judith grabbed her wrist.
“No.”
“The sheriff’s name is in the ledger,” Noah reminded her.
Caleb looked toward me.
“We need to leave.”
I secured the flash drive and ledger inside my handbag.
Judith hurried toward the bedroom.
“I have medication and a small suitcase.”
“You’re coming with us,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“You won’t be safe here.”
“I won’t be safe anywhere.”
A bright light flashed outside.
Not headlights.
A camera.
Someone had photographed us through the window.
Caleb pulled the curtain shut.
“Move!”
We ran toward the back door.
My phone buzzed inside my handbag.
At first, I ignored it.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
I pulled it out.
An unknown number had sent me a photograph.
It had been taken only seconds earlier.
The image showed all five of us standing inside Judith’s living room.
Beneath it was a message.
YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO JUDGE MERCER.
A second message appeared.
RETURN THE LEDGER BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Then a third photograph loaded.
This one was not taken in Mobile.
It showed my company headquarters in Denver.
My office window had been circled in red.
Another photograph followed.
Emma leaving a grocery store three months earlier.
Then Noah standing beside his adoptive mother’s grave.
They had been watching us long before today.
My hands began to shake.
A final message appeared.
CHOOSE WHICH TWIN YOU WANT TO KEEP.
Emma read it over my shoulder.
Her face went white.
Noah stepped beside her.
Outside, the black SUV’s engine started.
Caleb reached for the door.
But Judith screamed from the hallway.
We turned.
She stood beside an open bedroom closet, staring at the empty floor.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The other file.”
“What other file?”
Her lips trembled.
“The one document Judge Mercer would kill to recover.”
Caleb hurried toward her.
“What was in it?”
Judith looked at Emma and Noah.
Then she looked at me.
“It contained the name of the person who ordered your parents to separate the twins.”
“You said Mercer ordered it.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“Mercer approved it.”
My blood turned cold.
“Then who ordered it?”
Judith’s eyes filled with terror.
“Your mother did.”
I stared at her.
“That isn’t new.”
“You don’t understand.”
Judith gripped the closet door to keep herself upright.
“Linda didn’t separate the twins to protect the adoption network.”
“Then why?”
“Because a blood test was performed after the delivery.”
Caleb stopped breathing.
Judith looked at him.
Then at me.
“And according to the original laboratory report, Emma and Noah did not have the same biological father.”………………………
LAST PART…
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
