“Read the date aloud,” my attorney said through the phone.
The noise of Westbridge Mall seemed to recede as Damien leaned over the folder.
His mother stood a few feet away, one hand gripping the strap of her handbag so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
I looked at the first page.
The report had been issued four years and eight months earlier, when Ethan and Noah were barely sixteen weeks old.
Damien read the date himself.
Then he read the conclusion beneath it.
The private laboratory had compared a sample linked to him with samples obtained from both boys.
The probability of paternity exceeded 99.9 percent.
Damien’s face emptied.
He looked at his mother.
“You knew.”
Vivian’s expression hardened.
“That document proves nothing.
Private laboratories make mistakes.”
My attorney’s voice came clearly through the speaker.
“The laboratory has already authenticated the report.
So has the investigator Mrs.
Mercer hired to obtain the samples.”
Damien flinched as if the words had struck him.
I felt sick reading the investigator’s notes.
Vivian had paid someone to follow me after the twins were born.
He had photographed us leaving pediatric appointments, recorded the license plate of my car, and collected items discarded after a family picnic.
She had known where we lived.
She had known which hospital treated Ethan.
She had known when Noah took his first steps because one of the surveillance photographs showed him wobbling across a public playground while I held out my arms.
For years, I had believed Damien’s family had forgotten us.
They had not forgotten.
They had watched.
Damien turned another page.
There were photographs of the boys at six months, eighteen months, three years, and four years.
Their faces had been marked with dates and locations.
He stopped at an image of Ethan asleep against my shoulder outside a clinic.
“Why was he there?” Damien asked.
“He had pneumonia.”
His voice dropped.
“Was he all right?”
“He recovered.”
That was all I gave him.
Vivian stepped forward.
“Damien, this is clearly designed to manipulate you.
Mara has always wanted access to this family.”
I stared at her.
“I refused your money.”
“You wanted more.”
“No.
I wanted you to leave us alone.”
The shoppers who had stopped nearby were no longer pretending not to listen.
The toy-store employee had moved Ethan and Noah behind the counter and was showing them a remote-control robot while keeping them within my sight.
I gave her a grateful nod.
Damien looked at his mother again.
“What did you tell me?” he asked.
Vivian said nothing.
His voice rose.
“You told me the pregnancy had ended.”
My breath caught.
