Chapter 8: The Truth My Mother Buried

Nobody moved when Daniel’s name appeared.

It was almost cruel.

After everything.

After all the secrets.

After all the damage.

His name still had the power to stop the room.

Mom stared at the phone.

Dad stared at her.

“Answer it.””

She shook her head.

“Marcus.””

“Answer it.””

Her hand trembled as she pressed the button.

“Hello?””

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Daniel’s voice came through.

“Nicole, why isn’t she answering?””

My mother looked confused.

“Who?””

“Emily.””

My stomach tightened.

Daniel continued.

“She called me. She said she contacted Maya.””

Everyone looked at me.

I didn’t say anything.

Daniel’s voice became sharper.

“What did you tell her?””

Mom closed her eyes.

“Daniel, we need to talk.””

“No.””

His tone changed.

“No, you don’t understand. If Marcus knows—”

Dad grabbed the phone.

“He knows.””

Silence.

Long silence.

Then Daniel said:

“Marcus.””

Dad’s grip tightened.

“Tell me what you did.””

“I can explain.””

“Everybody says that.””

Daniel exhaled.

“You need to listen.””

“No. You need to answer.””

Dad looked at Richard.

Then at Mom.

Then at me.

“What is my daughter?””

The question made my heart stop.

Daniel went quiet.

Mom covered her mouth.

And I knew.

I knew before anyone said anything.

There was something about me.

Something everyone knew except me.

“Marcus,” Daniel said slowly.

“You need to calm down.””

Dad laughed.

“You are not telling me to calm down.””

“Maya is listening, isn’t she?””

I felt sick.

Because he knew.

He knew I was there.

Dad looked at me.

Then back at the phone.

“Tell me the truth.””

Daniel was silent.

Then:

“Maya was born from a complicated situation.””

Complicated.

That word.

Adults loved using words that made horrible things sound smaller.

“What does that mean?”” Dad asked.

Daniel didn’t answer.

Dad’s voice broke.

“What does that mean?””

Finally, Daniel said:

“She isn’t your biological daughter.””

The world stopped.

I heard nothing.

Not my father.

Not my mother.

Not the phone.

Nothing.

I just stood there.

Waiting for someone to say it was a joke.

A misunderstanding.

Anything.

But nobody did.

My mother was crying.

My father looked like someone had physically hurt him.

And Richard looked away.

I whispered:

“No.””

Dad looked at me.

“Maya…”

“No.””

I backed away.

“You’re lying.””

Nobody corrected me.

That was the worst part.

Because I needed someone to fight.

Someone to say Daniel was wrong.

Instead, everyone looked guilty.

My entire life suddenly felt like a story someone else had written.

Every birthday.

Every family photo.

Every time Dad told me I was his little girl.

Was it real?

Or was it something he forced himself to believe?

I ran.

I didn’t plan to.

I just moved.

Upstairs.

Into my room.

I slammed the door and locked it.

Then I sat on the floor.

For the first time that night, I cried for myself.

Not Dad.

Not Mom.

Me.

A few minutes later, someone knocked.

“Maya.””

Dad.

I didn’t answer.

“Maya, please.””

I wiped my face.

“Go away.””

“I know you’re hurt.””

“You don’t know anything.””

Silence.

Then he said:

“You’re right.””

That surprised me.

I looked at the door.

“I don’t know what to say.””

His voice broke.

“But I need you to know one thing.””

I didn’t answer.

“You are my daughter.””

The tears came back.

“You don’t even know that.””

“Yes, I do.””

“How?””

“Because I chose you every day.””

I closed my eyes.

Dad continued.

“I held you when you were sick. I stayed awake when you had nightmares. I taught you how to ride a bike. I watched you take your first steps.””

A pause.

“DNA doesn’t erase that.””

I pressed my hand against my mouth.

Because I wanted to believe him.

I needed to believe him.

Then my phone buzzed.

Another message.

Emily.

I opened it.

*Your father is telling the truth. But Daniel lied about why you were born.*

My breathing stopped.

Another message appeared.

*Ask your mother what happened the night you were born.*

I looked at the door.

Dad was still there.

“Dad?””

“Yes?””

I swallowed.

“I need to ask Mom something.””

The hallway became silent.

Then Dad whispered:

“What?””

I looked at the phone.

And typed one sentence.

*What happened the night Maya was born?*

A minute passed.

Then another.

Finally, my mother replied.

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