Chapter 8: The Truth Hidden in Our Birth Certificates
“Where is the blue folder?””
Grandmother Margaret stood beneath the garden lights, gripping her cane with both hands.
Nobody moved.
Mom looked as though she might faint.
Meredith was the first to approach her.
“Margaret?””
Grandmother turned.
“Hello, Meredith.””
My aunt began crying.
“You're alive.””
Margaret gave her a tired smile.
“Apparently, that has become rather inconvenient for this family.””
Then her eyes returned to me.
“June, sweetheart.””
I stood slowly.
“Grandma?””
She opened her arms.
I crossed the garden and hugged her carefully, afraid that she might disappear if I held on too tightly.
She smelled like lavender and the peppermint candies she always kept in her handbag.
I remembered that smell.
I remembered sitting on her lap when I was little.
I remembered her teaching me to bake apple pie at the cottage.
I remembered standing beside her coffin six years earlier, crying so hard that I couldn't hear the pastor.
“How?”” I whispered.
She held my face.
“It's a long story.””
“They told me you died.””
“I know.””
“Your funeral—”
“Was a funeral for a woman who wanted the world to believe she was gone.””
I pulled back.
“Why?””
Her expression hardened.
“Because your father had become dangerous.””
Behind us, Mom made a strangled sound.
“Margaret, please.””
Grandmother turned.
“Don't you dare ask me to protect him again.””
She looked at Thomas.
“You have the documents?””
Thomas nodded.
“Some of them.””
“And the blue folder?””
“We haven't found it.””
She closed her eyes.
“Then Richard still has it.””
I stepped closer.
“What is in that folder?””
Grandmother looked at me for a long moment.
“Proof of what your father did to this family.””
She asked us to sit.
The officers agreed to remain nearby while she explained what she knew.
Grandmother settled into a chair beside Caleb.
She took his hand.
“My brave boy.””
Caleb leaned against her.
“Why didn't you come back?””
Her eyes filled.
“Because I was afraid that if I came back, your father would hurt you too.””
I felt anger rise.
“He already hurt us.””
“I know, darling.””
She looked at my scars.
Her expression crumpled.
“Oh, June.””
I reached for her hand.
“It's okay.””
“No, it isn't.””
She gently touched the edge of my shoulder.
“I should have protected you.””
I shook my head.
“You didn't start the fire.””
“But I knew what Richard was capable of.””
She looked toward the house.
“Six years ago, I discovered that your father had been moving money out of the family estate. He was using property investments to cover enormous debts. When I confronted him, he threatened to have me declared mentally incompetent.””
Thomas nodded.
“I helped her establish a separate trust.””
Grandmother continued.
“I transferred certain assets into a protected account and placed the original records somewhere Richard couldn't reach.””
“Where?”” I asked.
“In the cottage.””
I looked at the photograph of the burning utility room.
“That's why he wanted the folder.””
“Yes.””
“But why did he need the cottage destroyed?””
“Because the original records contained evidence that he had falsified ownership documents and transferred money without authorization.””
She paused.
“And because he believed the cottage contained something else.””
“What?””
She looked directly at me.
“The original birth records for you and Sloane.””
My stomach tightened.
I glanced toward my sister's empty chair.
“What do our birth records have to do with Dad's money?””
“Everything.””
Grandmother reached into her handbag and removed a sealed envelope.
She placed it on the table.
“These are certified copies.””
I opened it.
Two birth certificates.
One for June Eleanor Hayes.
One for Sloane Margaret Hayes.
Both listed Richard Hayes as the father.
Both listed Eleanor Hayes as the mother.
But the hospital identification numbers were different.
I frowned.
“Why are there two different numbers?””
Grandmother folded her hands.
“Because you were born at two different hospitals.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“You and Sloane were born on the same day. But you were not born from the same pregnancy.””
The garden seemed to spin.
I stared at her.
“That's impossible.””
Grandmother shook her head.
“No, sweetheart. It's simply something your parents never told you.””
She explained that six years before our births, my mother had suffered a series of medical complications that made carrying another pregnancy extremely dangerous.
She and Dad had wanted children.
They had tried for years.
Then, after several failed fertility treatments, Mom became pregnant with Sloane.
But there had been complications during delivery.
Sloane survived.
Mom did not carry another child.
I stared at her.
“Then where did I come from?””
Grandmother's eyes filled.
“Your biological mother was my daughter, Elizabeth.””
I stopped breathing.
Elizabeth.
My father's younger sister.
The aunt I had been told died shortly after I was born.
I remembered photographs of a smiling woman with dark hair.
Grandmother used to say I had her eyes.
“Dad's sister?””
Grandmother nodded.
“Elizabeth died shortly after giving birth. She had arranged for me to take care of you.””
I looked down at the birth certificate.
My mother was not my biological mother.
My father was my biological uncle.
And Sloane was not my biological twin.
She was the daughter of the woman who had raised me.
I looked toward Mom.
She was crying silently.
“Did you know?”” I asked.
She nodded.
“From the beginning.””
I felt something inside me collapse.
“You told me I was your daughter.””
“You were my daughter.””
“But you lied.””
She reached for me.
“I loved you.””
I stepped away.
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
She looked helplessly at Grandmother.
“Richard said it would destroy the family.””
Grandmother gave a bitter laugh.
“Richard said a great many things.””
She explained that Elizabeth had left me a substantial inheritance.
A trust containing property, investments, and money intended to secure my future.
But Dad had been appointed temporary financial guardian until I turned eighteen.
My birthday.
Today.
I stared at the documents.
“Was that why he wanted the cottage destroyed?””
Grandmother nodded.
“He had been trying to access the trust for years. But Elizabeth's instructions were specific. You would receive control of the assets when you turned eighteen.””
Thomas placed another paper on the table.
“The transfer restrictions expired today.””
I looked at the date.
November 7.
My eighteenth birthday.
My father had spent months trying to prevent me from reaching this day with the truth intact.
Grandmother continued.
“Elizabeth also left instructions concerning your sister.””
I frowned.
“What instructions?””
“She wanted Sloane to be protected, but she never wanted you two separated.””
I looked toward Mom.
“Then why did she make us compete?””
Mom covered her face.
Grandmother answered.
“Because Richard convinced her that if you knew the truth, you would reject her.””
Mom finally spoke.
“I was afraid.””
I stared at her.
“You were afraid I'd stop loving you?””
She nodded.
“And instead, you let me believe I was the person who started a fire.””
She began sobbing.
“I didn't know Richard would go that far.””
Grandmother leaned forward.
“Eleanor, you signed the alarm disconnection forms. You helped him conceal the records. You watched June suffer while he blamed her.””
Mom lowered her head.
“I know.””
I turned back to the documents.
There was another page.
A trust beneficiary statement.
My name appeared at the top.
Below it was a figure that made my eyes widen.
$4,850,000.
I stared at Grandmother.
“Is this real?””
“Yes.””
“That's what Dad was trying to take?””
“Some of it. The remainder was tied to property and investments.””
I couldn't understand how a number could matter more to my father than his children.
Then Grandmother reached into the envelope again.
She removed a smaller photograph.
It showed my biological mother, Elizabeth, holding a newborn baby.
On the back was a handwritten message.
To my little June. You were loved before you ever opened your eyes.
I pressed the photograph against my chest.
For the first time that evening, I cried.
Not because I was ashamed.
Not because I was afraid.
Because somewhere, long before the fire, someone had loved me enough to plan for my future.
Grandmother let me cry.
Then she spoke quietly.
“There's one more thing.””
I wiped my face.
“What?””
She looked toward the driveway.
“The person who started the fire wasn't trying to destroy the insurance records.””
I frowned.
“Then what?””
Grandmother lowered her voice.
“He was trying to destroy the evidence that Elizabeth was murdered.””
The words struck the table like a gunshot.
I stared at her.
“What did you just say?””
Grandmother's hands trembled.
“Your mother didn't die from complications during childbirth, June.””
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Someone killed her.””
Before I could ask another question, Caleb's tablet chimed.
A new message had arrived.
It was from an unknown number.
The message contained a photograph of my biological mother's hospital room.
May you like
And underneath it were nine words.
*ASK YOUR GRANDMOTHER WHO WAS IN THE ROOM THAT NIGHT.*
