Chapter 3 - Four Birth Certificates and One Missing Father
My mother's house looked exactly the same.
That was the first thing I hated about it.
The black shutters.
The polished brass knocker.
The stone steps Elena had once climbed while carrying the ultrasound letter I never received.
Six years had changed almost everything about our lives, yet Beatrice Vance's townhouse still stood in Beacon Hill as though time obeyed her.
Elena stopped at the bottom of the steps.
For a moment, I wondered if she might turn around.
Then she looked toward the front door.
"I was standing right there."
I followed her gaze.
"Where?"
"Third step."
Her voice became distant.
"It was raining."
I imagined her pregnant with four babies, holding an envelope and trying to reach me.
I felt sick.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at me.
"You've said that twice."
"I'll probably say it for the rest of my life."
"Sorry doesn't give them five years back."
"I know."
That was the only answer I had.
I rang the bell.
The housekeeper, Margaret, opened the door.
She had worked for my mother since I was in college.
Her eyes moved from me to Elena.
Then widened.
"Mr. Alex."
"Is my mother home?"
Margaret hesitated.
"She's in the library."
"Good."
I walked past her.
Elena followed.
Beatrice sat in her usual chair beneath the tall windows, reading a financial newspaper.
At sixty-eight, she remained an elegant woman.
Silver-blonde hair.
Pearls even at home.
Cream silk blouse.
The kind of posture that communicated disapproval before she said a word.
She lowered the paper.
Her face changed when she saw Elena.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
That told me everything.
"Alex."
I placed the archive note on the table.
"You knew."
She didn't look at it.
"What exactly are we discussing?"
"The four children I saw on television yesterday."
Her silence lasted half a second too long.
Elena made a quiet sound behind me.
Not shock.
Confirmation.
"You knew," I repeated.
Beatrice folded the newspaper.
"I wondered when this might happen."
I couldn't believe her calmness.
"When this might happen?"
"Sit down."
"No."
"Alex—"
"Did you know Elena was pregnant when I filed for divorce?"
Beatrice looked toward Elena.
"I knew she claimed to be."
Elena stepped forward.
"Claimed?"
Beatrice's eyes cooled.
"I had no independent proof."
"I handed you an ultrasound."
"Ultrasounds are not paternity tests."
The cruelty of it stunned even me.
"Mother."
She turned to me.
"You were vulnerable."
"I was an adult."
"You were emotionally compromised."
"She was my wife."
"A marriage that was already failing."
Elena's expression hardened.
"Our marriage was failing because you were helping destroy it."
Beatrice stood.
"I protected my son."
"From his children?"
"From being trapped."
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
"Trapped."
Beatrice seemed to realize how the word sounded, but she didn't retreat.
"Alex wanted children. Suddenly, after years of medical difficulties, Elena claimed she was carrying four? The timing was convenient."
Elena laughed once.
"I nearly died carrying those babies."
Beatrice's face flickered.
Just slightly.
But Elena saw it.
"So you did investigate," she said.
Beatrice said nothing.
My stomach dropped.
"What does she mean?"
Elena looked at my mother.
"You knew they were born."
Beatrice turned away.
I stepped between her and the window.
"Did you know?"
"Alex, lower your voice."
"Did you know my children were born?"
She remained silent.
That silence was enough.
I felt something inside me break.
"When?"
"Several months after the divorce."
"How?"
"I had people who—"
"You had people?"
She straightened.
"I wanted to understand the situation."
"You investigated Elena?"
"I verified information."
"Did you know there were four?"
"Yes."
The word barely sounded human.
Elena's hand gripped the back of a chair.
"And you never told him."
Beatrice looked at her.
"He had moved forward."
"I was in a neonatal intensive care unit!"
"I believed disrupting his life would help no one."
I slammed my hand against the table.
The sound echoed.
Beatrice flinched.
It was the first time I had ever seen my mother afraid of me.
"My children were in intensive care?"
Her expression changed.
"Alex—"
"You knew?"
"I knew there were complications."
"And you said nothing?"
"I believed you would go back out of guilt."
"They were my children!"
"You were building a future."
"They were my future!"
My voice cracked.
I turned away because suddenly I couldn't see clearly.
Elena stood very still.
She had every right to hate me.
Yet there was something in her expression I hadn't expected.
Not forgiveness.
But the first recognition that perhaps I had truly not known.
Beatrice tried another approach.
"You filed for divorce before knowing."
"Yes."
"Then the pregnancy shouldn't rewrite why you left."
I faced her again.
"No. It doesn't."
That answer surprised her.
"I left because I was selfish."
Elena looked at me.
"I left because I let fear become more important than the woman I married."
My throat tightened.
"That part is mine."
Then I pointed toward the archive note.
"But stealing six years from four children wasn't your decision to make."
Beatrice's face tightened.
"I did what I thought was best."
"Then your best was monstrous."
She looked wounded.
Years earlier, that expression would have manipulated me.
Not now.
"Alex."
"No."
I backed toward the door.
"You don't get to tell me I owe you respect while you're standing in the house where you hid my children's existence."
She paled.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
That was true.
"But whatever happens next, you are not going to control it."
Elena and I left.
Outside, neither of us spoke until we reached the sidewalk.
Then Elena said, "I believe you."
I turned.
"What?"
Her eyes were wet.
"I believe you didn't know."
The relief hurt.
Not because it solved anything.
Because I hadn't realized how desperately I needed her to believe that one thing.
"I still left you."
"Yes."
"I still said things I can't take back."
"Yes."
"I still wasn't there."
Her eyes hardened again.
"Yes."
I nodded.
"I know."
We stood in silence.
Then Elena checked her phone.
Her expression changed.
"What?"
"School called."
My entire body went alert.
"The children?"
"Sophie has a fever."
"Is she okay?"
"It's probably nothing."
Elena began walking toward her car.
I followed automatically.
She stopped.
"Alex."
"Sorry."
I took a step back.
She stared at me for a moment.
Something complicated passed through her face.
Then she said, "Do you want to come?"
I couldn't speak.
She looked almost annoyed.
"I'm not introducing you as their father."
"Of course."
"You're an old family friend."
"Okay."
"No emotional scenes."
"Okay."
"And if I tell you to leave—"
"I leave."
She nodded.
"Fine."
The Little Nests center in Brookline was bright and warm.
Children's paintings covered the walls.
Tiny shoes lined cubbies near the entrance.
I had negotiated hundred-million-dollar acquisitions with steadier hands than the ones I had when Elena led me down that hallway.
Then I saw them.
All four.
Lucas was building something from wooden blocks.
Daniel sat with a book.
Mia was drawing.
Sophie was curled under a blanket on a small couch while a teacher took her temperature.
Elena entered.
All four children's faces lit up.
"Mom!"
They moved toward her.
I stopped in the doorway.
Lucas saw me first.
He looked up.
That dimple appeared.
My dimple.
"Who's that?"
Elena glanced at me.
"This is Alex."
Mia studied me with those hazel eyes.
"Do you work here?"
"No."
My voice nearly failed.
"I... know your mom."
Daniel closed his book.
"From when she was little?"
Elena laughed despite herself.
"Not that long ago."
Sophie lifted her head from the couch.
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then you can't fix my fever."
I smiled.
"Probably not."
"Mom fixes everything."
"I believe that."
Elena's eyes moved toward me.
Sophie looked at my face more carefully.
Then she frowned.
I froze.
"What?" Elena asked.
Sophie pointed toward my cheek.
"You have Lucas's dent."
Lucas immediately touched his dimple.
"My what?"
"Your dent."
"It's a dimple," Elena said quickly.
Sophie kept staring at me.
Then Mia came closer.
Very close.
She looked directly into my eyes.
"You have eyes like me."
Every survival instinct I possessed disappeared.
I wanted to kneel.
I wanted to tell them.
I wanted to apologize for every birthday I had missed even though they couldn't possibly understand what I meant.
Instead, I forced a small smile.
"I guess I do."
Mia smiled.
"Cool."
That one word nearly destroyed me.
Elena gathered Sophie's coat.
"We're going home."
"Can Alex come?" Lucas asked.
Both Elena and I went still.
"Why?" she said carefully.
Lucas shrugged.
"He looks sad."
Children are terrifyingly observant.
"I'm fine," I said.
Lucas considered that.
"No, you're not."
Daniel nodded solemnly.
"You look like Mom when the freezer broke at school."
Elena covered a laugh with her hand.
For a few seconds, the tension softened.
Then Sophie reached for Elena.
Elena picked her up.
I watched my daughter rest her head against her mother's shoulder.
My daughter.
I was still learning how to think those words.
Elena glanced toward me.
"You can walk us to the car."
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
Outside, the children climbed into Elena's SUV.
As I helped Lucas with a dropped backpack, a folded piece of paper slipped out.
I picked it up.
A classroom assignment.
At the top, in crooked letters, was written:
MY FAMILY TREE.
There were branches for Mom.
Grandma Rosa.
Aunt Isabel.
Then one blank branch.
The label beneath it was simple.
Dad.
Nothing had been drawn there.
No name.
No face.
Just an empty line.
Lucas grabbed the paper from my hand.
"We have to finish that tomorrow."
I tried to keep my voice steady.
"What goes there?"
He shrugged.
"Don't know yet."
He climbed into the car.
I closed the door.
And as Elena drove away with my four children, I realized discovering I was their father had been the easy part.
May you like
The impossible part would be earning the right to fill that empty branch.
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