Chapter 3 - The Birthmark
By midnight, our house no longer felt like our home.
It felt like evidence.
I called the police.
Thomas begged me not to.
I did it anyway.
No mystery, no secret clinic, no family history was going to convince me that keeping a starving child inside a wall was acceptable.
Two officers arrived first.
Then detectives.
Then paramedics.
Emma screamed when they tried to separate her from me.
That was the moment everything became painfully real.
"Daddy!"
She wrapped both arms around my neck.
One paramedic stopped.
Claire turned away.
I held Emma until they promised I could ride with her to the hospital.
Lily stayed with Claire's sister.
Claire came with me.
Thomas was taken separately for questioning.
At the hospital, doctors examined Emma.
Dehydrated.
Malnourished.
Bruises on her arms.
Old scars on one knee.
But alive.
No evidence that Thomas had physically harmed her.
In fact, Emma repeatedly insisted that "Grandpa Tom" had rescued her.
Rescued her from what, she wouldn't say.
At three in the morning, a detective named Marissa Cole sat across from Claire and me.
"Mr. Mercer, we're arranging DNA testing."
"How long?"
"Initial results can be expedited."
Claire squeezed her hands together.
Detective Cole looked at her.
"Mrs. Mercer, you told officers you had information concerning the child's identity."
Claire nodded.
"Tell me."
Claire looked at me.
There was shame in her eyes.
"I received a letter four months ago."
"What letter?"
"From someone claiming Westbridge had illegally retained genetic material from former patients."
I stared at her.
"You never told me."
"I thought it was a scam."
"Was it?"
She shook her head.
"The letter included details nobody should have known."
"What details?"
"Our patient number. Dates. Your donor records."
"My what?"
Claire looked sick.
"When we went to Westbridge, you provided samples."
"For testing."
"Yes."
Detective Cole leaned forward.
"What did the letter say happened to those samples?"
Claire swallowed.
"That they were never destroyed."
A cold pressure spread through my chest.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because the letter also said a child had been born."
Emma was asleep down the hall.
A child with my birthmark.
A child who called me Daddy.
I stared at my wife.
"You knew for four months?"
"I didn't know if it was true."
"Then why did you know Thomas?"
"He sent the letter."
Detective Cole's expression sharpened.
"You met him?"
Claire nodded.
"Three times."
My stomach twisted.
"Behind my back."
"I was trying to find out whether he was lying."
"And?"
"He showed me documents."
"Why didn't you come home and tell me?"
Her voice cracked.
"Because I was terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you."
I almost laughed.
"You thought hiding a child possibly created from my DNA was going to protect our marriage?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Claire covered her face.
Detective Cole gave us a moment.
Finally Claire whispered, "Because there was more."
Of course there was.
There was always more.
Thomas had claimed Westbridge wasn't simply misusing samples.
It had been running an unauthorized embryo program.
Patients with unusual genetic markers were selected without consent.
My family was one of them.
"Why me?" I asked.
Claire looked toward my neck.
"The birthmark."
"That's ridiculous."
"The mark wasn't important by itself. The gene associated with it was."
"What gene?"
"I don't know."
Detective Cole said, "We'll verify everything independently."
At dawn, I walked to Emma's room.
She was awake.
She looked tiny beneath the hospital blanket.
"Hi," I said.
She watched me cautiously.
"Are you leaving?"
"No."
"You promise?"
I hesitated.
Then sat beside her.
"I'm staying right here."
She reached for my hand.
Her fingers wrapped around one of mine.
"Grandpa Tom said you'd come."
"What else did Grandpa Tom tell you?"
"That you didn't know about me."
That sentence nearly destroyed me.
"He said you weren't bad."
I swallowed.
"Where were you before the wall?"
Her face changed.
A child's face shouldn't be able to hold that much fear.
"A white house."
"What happened there?"
She shook her head.
"Bad people."
"Did they hurt you?"
She stared at the blanket.
I didn't push.
Instead, I asked, "Why did you call me Daddy?"
She looked at me as though the answer was obvious.
"Because I know your face."
Later that morning, Detective Cole returned.
She held a folder.
"The preliminary DNA results are back."
Claire stood beside me.
I couldn't breathe.
Cole looked directly at me.
"Ryan, the laboratory confirms a first-degree biological relationship between you and Emma."
My knees weakened.
"What does that mean?"
"Based on the markers tested, the probability that you are her biological father is extremely high."
Claire began crying.
I sat down.
I had a daughter.
A daughter I had never met.
A daughter who had spent weeks living behind my wall.
But Detective Cole wasn't finished.
"There is something unusual."
I looked up.
"What?"
"The maternal profile."
"What about it?"
Cole glanced at Claire.
"Claire is not Emma's biological mother."
I didn't know whether that made things better or worse.
"Then who is?"
"We don't know yet."
Cole opened another page.
"But there's another genetic relationship we didn't expect."
"With whom?"
"Thomas."
My pulse accelerated.
"What relationship?"
She looked at me.
"Thomas appears to be Emma's biological great-uncle."
Daniel.
My biological father.
Thomas's brother.
Suddenly his story had evidence behind it.
Cole continued.
"We've also confirmed that Westbridge Fertility Center closed seven years ago after its medical director died."
"Who was the director?"
"Dr. Arthur Voss."
I had never heard the name.
Cole slid a photograph across the table.
The moment Claire saw it, she stopped breathing.
I noticed.
"So you know him."
Claire shook her head too quickly.
"Claire."
Her eyes filled.
"I've seen him."
"Where?"
She looked at the photograph.
"Thomas showed me something when we met."
"What?"
"A recording."
My patience disappeared.
"What recording?"
Claire whispered, "Dr. Voss wasn't the only person running the program."
"Who else?"
She stared at me.
May you like
"Your mother."
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