Chapter 5
I sat in my study.
Staring at the single line from Vanessa's email.
*The first one is gone. No loose ends.*
Fifteen years ago.
A son.
My firstborn.
Vanessa had been pregnant when we married.
She'd told me she'd miscarried.
I'd grieved.
Held her.
Comforted her.
And she'd lied.
She'd had the baby.
And she'd gotten rid of him.
Given him away.
Sold him.
I didn't know.
And now he was fifteen years old.
Somewhere.
Living a life that should have been mine.
That should have been our family's.
I called the investigator.
"Find him," I said. "Fifteen years ago. A boy. Born around the time Vanessa said she miscarried. Find him. I don't care what it takes. I don't care how long it takes. Find my son."
"We'll do everything we can, sir," he said. "But it's been fifteen years. Vanessa covered her tracks well. This could take months. Years. Maybe forever."
"I don't care," I said. "I have four children who need their brother. And I have a son who needs his family. Find him."
I hung up.
I went to the window.
I looked out at my children playing in the yard.
Sage.
Fourteen now.
Teaching Sophia how to throw a baseball.
Robert chasing Serena around the lawn.
Laughing.
Happy.
They were wonderful.
Perfect.
But there was a hole.
A missing piece.
Their brother.
My son.
Out there somewhere.
Alone.
Maybe hurt.
Maybe confused.
Maybe wondering why his parents didn't want him.
Because Vanessa had told him that.
Just like she'd told the others.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
My sister, Frankie.
She'd come to help with the kids.
To be family.
"You'll find him," she said. "I know you will."
"I hope so," I said. "I can't bear the thought of him out there alone. Thinking we didn't want him."
"Vanessa is the only one to blame," she said. "Not you. Not him. And when you find him, you'll make it right. You'll give him the family he deserves."
I nodded.
But I was scared.
Scared it was too late.
Scared he'd hate me.
Scared he'd never want to be part of our family.
Scared Vanessa had already poisoned him against me.
Just like she'd threatened.
The weeks turned into months.
The investigator followed every lead.
Every dead end.
Every possible clue.
And slowly, he started to piece things together.
Vanessa had gone to a small town in Ohio.
Fifteen years ago.
Under a fake name.
She'd stayed there for three months.
And then she'd left.
Without a baby.
There was a young couple there.
Who'd adopted a baby boy.
Fifteen years ago.
Privately.
Through a lawyer.
Who'd since died.
The couple was still there.
Still living in the same house.
And they had a son.
Fifteen years old.
Dark hair.
Strong jaw.
Looked just like a young Sylvester Stallone.
His name was Michael.
The investigator sent me a photograph.
I stared at it.
And I knew.
He was mine.
He had my eyes.
My smile.
My build.
He was my son.
My firstborn.
I flew to Ohio.
Marcus came with me.
Frankie stayed with the kids.
I didn't tell them yet.
Not until I was sure.
Not until I knew Michael would be okay.
That he'd want to meet us.
We drove to the small town.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
Normal.
We found the house.
Small.
Modest.
Well-kept.
A family home.
And there he was.
Michael.
Working on an old car in the driveway.
Fifteen years old.
Tall.
Strong.
Just like me at that age.
My heart ached.
I wanted to run to him.
To tell him everything.
To hold him.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
He had a family.
Parents who loved him.
A life he knew.
And I was about to turn it upside down.
I had to be careful.
Gentle.
Smart.
We contacted a lawyer.
We arranged for DNA testing.
Discreetly.
We got a sample from Michael.
From a cup he'd used at a local diner.
And we waited.
Three days.
The longest three days of my life.
And then the results came back.
*Probability of paternity: 99.99%*
Michael was my son.
My firstborn.
I cried.
Happy tears.
Sad tears.
All the tears I'd held back for fifteen years.
Now I had to tell him.
And his parents.
The people who'd raised him.
Loved him.
As their own.
We arranged a meeting.
At their house.
With their lawyer present.
With a social worker.
With Marcus.
I was nervous.
Scared.
But I was also determined.
I was going to meet my son.
His parents, James and Eleanor, were nice people.
Hardworking.
Kind.
They loved Michael.
That was obvious.
They were shocked when we told them.
Devastated.
The adoption had been private.
Illegal.
They'd had no idea.
They'd thought Vanessa was a young mother who couldn't take care of her baby.
They'd paid a fee.
Believing it was for medical expenses.
They had no idea they'd been part of a fraud.
No idea their son was the child of Sylvester Stallone.
Michael was called in from the garage.
He was confused.
Wondering what was going on.
And then I told him.
Everything.
About Vanessa.
About the lies.
About me.
About his brothers and sisters.
About the family he'd never known.
He stared at me.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Anger.
Confusion.
So many emotions.
And then he ran.
Out of the house.
I started to go after him.
But James stopped me.
"Let him go," he said. "He needs time. To process. To think. This is a lot for anyone. Especially a fifteen-year-old kid."
I nodded.
He was right.
But it was killing me.
To watch my son run away from me.
To know I'd missed fifteen years of his life.
To know Vanessa had stolen that from both of us.
We waited.
For hours.
And then Michael came back.
He looked at me.
Tears in his eyes.
Angry tears.
"Why didn't you find me sooner?" he asked. His voice broke. "Why didn't you want me?"
My heart broke.
"I did want you," I said. "More than anything. I didn't know you existed. Vanessa told me she'd miscarried. She lied to me. She hid you from me. I've only known about you for a few months. And I've been looking for you every single day since. I never stopped. I will never stop looking for any of my children."
He stared at me.
Searching my face.
Looking for the truth.
And he must have found it.
Because he walked toward me.
And he hugged me.
Hard.
And he cried.
"I always wondered," he whispered. "Why I didn't look like Mom and Dad. Why I felt different. Like I didn't belong. I always dreamed my real father would come for me. And now you're here."
I held him.
Tighter than I'd ever held anyone.
"I'm here, son," I said. "And I'm never going to let you go again. Never."
James and Eleanor were crying too.
They'd lost the son they'd raised.
But they'd gained something too.
An extended family.
A place in Michael's life.
Forever.
We worked out an arrangement.
Michael would live with them.
Finish high school.
But he'd spend holidays and summers with us.
He'd get to know his brothers and sisters.
He'd get to know me.
Slowly.
Gently.
At his own pace.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was a start.
And that was enough.
I flew back home a week later.
To my other four children.
And I told them.
About Michael.
About their brother.
About everything.
They were shocked.
But they were also excited.
They wanted to meet him.
To get to know him.
To be his family.
And they would.
Soon.
I had five children now.
Five beautiful, wonderful children.
All mine.
All safe.
All found.
Vanessa had lost.
She'd tried to destroy my family.
To steal my children.
To take everything from me.
And instead, she'd given me something wonderful.
A bigger family.
More love.
More reasons to fight.
More reasons to live.
But she wasn't done yet.
Her trial was coming up.
And she was going to play one more card.
May you like
One that would rock our family to its core.
And threaten everything we'd built.
