Chapter 7
That answer was worse than yes.
“What does that mean?”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“He left.”
Adam stared at her.
“You told me he died.”
“He was dead to me.”
“You held a funeral.”
“I needed people to stop asking questions.”
Adam could barely process it.
Six years.
Six years of grieving a man who had apparently still been alive.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Sophia spoke.
“Emma does.”
Beatrice turned toward her.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She did.”
Sophia reached toward the pocket of her robe.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Beatrice lunged.
Adam caught her wrists.
“Enough!”
The shout echoed through the laundry room.
Noah began crying.
Sophia stepped backward.
Adam released Beatrice only when she stopped fighting.
He took the paper from Sophia.
It was a printed photograph.
A man stood outside a gas station.
Older.
Gray hair.
Beard.
But unmistakable.
Richard Langford.
Adam’s father.
Alive.
The date printed in the corner was two months ago.
Adam stared at it.
His entire childhood rearranged itself in an instant.
Every story Beatrice had told him.
Every excuse.
Every carefully controlled memory.
“What does this have to do with Emma?”
Sophia spoke softly.
“She met him eight months ago.”
Adam looked up.
“She thought he was someone else. He used a different last name.”
“Did she know he was my father?”
“Not at first.”
Adam’s eyes dropped to Noah.
Then back to Sophia.
“No.”
Sophia understood immediately.
“Noah isn’t Richard’s.”
Adam exhaled.
“Then whose?”
Sophia hesitated.
“That’s what Emma was trying to find out.”
Beatrice gave a bitter laugh.
“More lies.”
Sophia looked at her.
“You know who the father is.”
Beatrice stopped laughing.
Adam turned.
“What?”
Sophia stepped closer.
“Emma left me something at the hospital.”
“What?”
May you like
“A memory card.”
Beatrice’s eyes moved instantly toward the hidden opening behind the washer.
