Chapter 4: The Father I Was Never Allowed to Know
I didn't open the door.
Not because I didn't believe the woman outside.
Because a part of me did.
And that scared me more.
For seventeen years, I had lived with one story.
My mother left.
My father was unknown.
I was a child nobody wanted.
That was the explanation written in every file.
That was the sentence adults used whenever I asked questions.
"Some families just can't take care of their children.""
I hated that sentence.
Because it always sounded like they were talking about a broken toy.
Not a person.
Not me.
I stood in the motel room, staring at the door while Claire Bennett waited on the other side.
"Emma," she said softly.
Her voice wasn't demanding anymore.
It sounded tired.
"Please.""
I moved closer.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?""
A pause.
Then:
"You don't.""
The answer caught me off guard.
"Everyone keeps saying that.""
"Because everyone has lied to you.""
I looked down at the folder in my hand.
The folder that had destroyed everything I believed.
"What do you want?""
"I want you alive.""
My fingers tightened.
"That's not an answer.""
"No.""
Her voice became quieter.
"It's not.""
A moment passed.
Then she said something that made my chest tighten.
"Your mother used to say the same thing.""
I froze.
"What?""
"She said you would grow up and hate her.""
My throat tightened.
"Why?""
"Because she knew you would only hear one side of the story.""
I stepped closer to the door.
"Tell me.""
Silence.
Then:
"Open the door, Emma.""
I unlocked it.
But I kept the chain attached.
The woman standing in the hallway looked nothing like I expected.
She wasn't mysterious.
She wasn't intimidating.
She looked exhausted.
Late forties.
Dark circles under her eyes.
Her hands were shaking.
But her eyes...
Her eyes looked like someone carrying years of guilt.
She stared at me.
And for a second, she looked like she was seeing someone else.
"You're her.""
I frowned.
"Who?""
"Your mother.""
I immediately stepped back.
"No.""
Claire swallowed.
"You have her eyes.""
"I don't know you.""
"I know.""
"Then stop acting like you do.""
She nodded slowly.
"You're right.""
Again.
Another person admitting I was right.
It was strange.
I wasn't used to it.
Claire looked down at the folder.
"You found the transfer records.""
"Yes.""
"How much did you read?""
"Enough.""
Her face changed.
"What does that mean?""
"It means I know children disappeared.""
Claire closed her eyes.
"And you know about the names?""
"Yes.""
She looked away.
"I was one of them.""
The words didn't make sense.
"What?""
She looked back at me.
"I was a foster child too.""
I said nothing.
"I was seventeen when I discovered what was happening.""
My stomach twisted.
"You?""
She nodded.
"Twenty years ago, before Henderson House existed, there was another program.""
"What program?""
"Children with certain backgrounds were targeted.""
"Targeted for what?""
Claire looked at the hallway.
Then back at me.
"Money.""
The answer felt too simple.
Too impossible.
"People paid to control where certain children ended up.""
"Why?""
"Because children grow up.""
I stared at her.
"That doesn't explain anything.""
"No.""
She looked at the floor.
"It doesn't.""
Then she said:
"But powerful people don't like children growing up and remembering things.""
A cold feeling moved through me.
"What things?""
Claire hesitated.
"My mother worked for a wealthy family.""
My heart slowed.
"Your mother?""
"Yes.""
"Doing what?""
"She was a housekeeper.""
The word made me think of something.
A memory.
A tiny one.
A woman's hands washing dishes.
A soft voice humming.
I shook my head.
I didn't trust memories anymore.
Claire continued.
"She discovered something she wasn't supposed to find.""
"What?""
"A child.""
I looked at her.
"What child?""
Claire's eyes met mine.
"You.""
The room became completely silent.
"No.""
"Emma—"
"No.""
I backed away.
"That doesn't make sense.""
"It does.""
"My mother abandoned me.""
"No.""
"Everyone said she did.""
"Because someone wanted everyone to believe that.""
I laughed bitterly.
"So what? My whole life was a lie?""
Claire didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
An hour later, we were sitting in a small diner two blocks away.
I chose the table closest to the exit.
Claire noticed.
"You always do that?""
"What?""
"Sit where you can escape.""
I looked at her.
"Two years with Henderson teaches you things.""
Her expression tightened.
"I'm sorry.""
I hated those words.
Sorry.
Everyone was sorry after the damage was done.
"Where is my mother?""
Claire looked down.
"I don't know.""
The disappointment hit harder than I expected.
I looked away.
"You said she didn't abandon me.""
"She didn't.""
"Then where is she?""
Claire hesitated.
"Missing.""
I stared at her.
"Missing?""
"Officially, she died.""
"But you don't believe that.""
"No.""
"Why?""
"Because I saw the evidence.""
"What evidence?""
Claire reached into her bag.
She pulled out a photograph.
Another one.
I almost didn't want to look.
But I did.
It showed a woman standing outside a building.
My mother.
Older than the hospital photo.
But alive.
The date was written on the back.
Five years after I entered foster care.
My hands went numb.
"Where was this taken?""
Claire didn't answer.
She slid another paper across the table.
I read it.
My eyes stopped at the address.
A private facility.
A place I had never heard of.
"What is this?""
"The place where children were sent before they disappeared.""
I looked up.
"Are they still there?""
Claire's face changed.
"Some are.""
My heart dropped.
"Some?""
"Emma...""
"What happened to the others?""
She looked away.
"That's the question I've spent twenty years trying to answer.""
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
My blood went cold.
A picture.
Taken moments ago.
Claire and me sitting in the diner.
Someone was watching us.
Under the picture was one sentence.
*You should have stayed on the bus.*
I showed Claire.
Her face turned pale.
She immediately stood up.
"We need to leave.""
"Who sent that?""
She grabbed my arm.
"Now.""
We moved quickly through the diner.
Outside, the street was quiet.
Too quiet.
Claire looked around.
"Do you trust me?""
I almost laughed.
"No.""
"Good.""
She nodded.
"Then you're learning.""
We walked faster.
Behind us, a black SUV turned the corner.
Claire stopped.
Her face changed.
"That's them.""
"Who?""
She looked at me.
"The people who have been looking for you.""
The SUV accelerated.
Claire grabbed my hand.
"Run.""
We ran between buildings.
My heart pounded.
My backpack hit against my shoulder.
The folder was still inside.
The truth was still inside.
We reached a narrow alley.
Claire opened a hidden door behind a restaurant.
"How do you know this place?""
She looked at me.
"Because I spent ten years running from the same people.""
We entered.
The door closed behind us.
For a moment, we were safe.
Then the lights turned on.
Someone was already inside.
A man stood at the end of the room.
Older.
Gray hair.
Calm.
Waiting.
Claire froze.
I saw her face lose all color.
"Who is that?""
She whispered the name.
A name I had never heard before.
But one I would never forget.
"Richard Carter.""
I looked at the man.
My last name.
My father's last name.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
And then he said:
"Emma...""
May you like
A pause.
"I've been trying to find you for seventeen years.""
