Chapter 1 - The Name on Lily’s Birth Certificate
Ethan kept staring at the photograph.
“Who is her father?”
Marissa whispered, “Not here.”
Ethan laughed once.
There was nothing amused about it.
“You've been with me for four years, and apparently you have a seven-year-old daughter you've never mentioned. I think I've earned the right to ask who her father is.”
Lily looked up at me.
“Mommy?”
I immediately took her hand.
“Sweetheart, why don't you find Aunt Rebecca? Tell her I'll be there in a minute.”
“But—”
“Everything's okay.”
Children know when adults are lying about that.
Lily studied my face.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
She kissed my cheek and ran toward the reception tent.
I waited until she was gone.
Ethan stepped closer.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
His eyes widened.
“You don't get to demand answers from me.”
“Claire, that child just called you Mommy.”
“Because I am her mother.”
“You gave birth?”
“No.”
That stopped him.
Marissa looked like she might faint.
I continued.
“I adopted Lily.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
Ethan stared at me.
Six years.
We had divorced five years ago.
The arithmetic reached him.
“You adopted a child while we were still married?”
“The process began while we were separated.”
“And you never told me?”
“You had already moved out.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“No, Ethan. It answers exactly as much as you're entitled to.”
He turned toward Marissa.
“Who is Lily's father?”
She said nothing.
Then a man's voice behind us answered.
“I am.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
I turned.
Nathan Mercer stood ten feet away.
Ethan's older brother.
The best man.
The man who had spent the afternoon giving speeches about family loyalty.
The man Ethan had trusted more than anyone in the world.
Ethan stared at him.
“No.”
Nathan didn't move.
Marissa began crying.
“Nathan…”
Ethan looked between them.
Then laughed.
It was the kind of laugh people make when reality has become too ridiculous to process.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Nathan glanced toward the wedding tent.
“Seven years ago.”
“You slept with my girlfriend?”
Marissa shook her head.
“I wasn't your girlfriend then.”
“You knew me.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Nathan was my brother.”
“Yes.”
Ethan turned toward Nathan.
“And you knew Marissa?”
Nathan nodded.
“Before you did.”
That mattered.
Because Ethan and Marissa had told everyone they met four years ago.
Apparently that wasn't true.
“How long?”
Nathan hesitated.
“One summer.”
“While Claire and I were married?”
“No.”
That answer came immediately.
Nathan looked at me.
“Before.”
Ethan followed his gaze.
Something shifted.
“Claire knew?”
I answered.
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“Because Marissa contacted me.”
Marissa covered her face.
Ethan stared.
“Why would she contact my wife?”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
I did.
And suddenly I remembered the email.
Six years earlier.
Unknown sender.
Subject line:
PLEASE DON'T DELETE THIS.
Marissa had been twenty-three then.
Scared.
Broke.
Living with roommates.
Raising a baby alone.
Nathan had disappeared from her life before learning she was pregnant.
At least, that's what I initially believed.
Marissa told me she couldn't continue caring for Lily.
She had researched adoption.
Then she'd found my name.
Why me?
Because Nathan had talked about me.
His brother's wife.
The pediatric nurse who desperately wanted children.
The woman Ethan was slowly breaking because she couldn't conceive.
Marissa had known enough to find me.
Not enough to understand what contacting me would eventually uncover.
Ethan looked at Nathan.
“You abandoned your daughter?”
Nathan's face changed.
“I didn't know.”
Marissa immediately said:
“Yes, you did.”
Silence.
Nathan looked at her.
“What?”
“You knew.”
“No.”
“I told you.”
“When?”
“August seventeenth.”
Nathan shook his head.
“You never—”
“I emailed you.”
“I never got an email.”
“You replied.”
Nathan stopped.
Ethan stared between them.
Marissa pulled out her phone.
“I kept everything.”
She opened an old email archive.
Nathan read.
His face drained.
“This isn't me.”
Marissa laughed through tears.
“Your address.”
“My address, yes.”
He scrolled.
Then froze.
The reply was cruel.
Take care of it.
Another:
Do not contact me again.
And finally:
You knew what this was. Don't turn one summer into my problem.
Nathan looked physically sick.
“I never wrote these.”
Ethan scoffed.
“Convenient.”
Nathan ignored him.
“I swear to you, Marissa.”
“Seven years, Nathan.”
“I never knew.”
Then I noticed something.
The email address.
One character.
Nathan's actual address used his middle initial.
The reply address didn't.
Almost identical.
Not identical.
“Wait.”
I took the phone.
Marissa looked at me.
“What?”
“This isn't Nathan's email.”
Everyone stopped.
I showed her.
One missing letter.
Marissa stared.
“But I replied to the same thread.”
“Someone created a similar account.”
Nathan grabbed his phone.
“My real address has an M.”
Marissa's didn't.
Ethan looked confused.
“Who would do that?”
Nobody answered.
Then Nathan whispered:
“Dad.”
Ethan turned.
“What?”
Nathan looked toward the reception tent.
At the front table sat Richard Mercer.
Their father.
A respected attorney.
The family patriarch.
The man who had spent decades deciding which truths were allowed inside the Mercer family.
Nathan's voice dropped.
“Dad knew about Marissa.”
Marissa went still.
“How?”
May you like
Nathan stared toward his father.
“Because I told him.”
