Chapter 5: The Daughter My Father Never Knew Existed
My father read the message three times.
Ask what happened to my other daughter.
Then he sat down.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
I had never seen him look so lost.
“Eleanor,” he finally said, “is there any chance this photograph was taken before my wife and I met?””
Mrs. Collins studied the image.
“The date isn't visible, but the girl's age suggests it could have been taken around the time Nia was born.””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Then who is she?””
“I don't know.””
“Was she related to Vanessa?””
“I don't know that either, Richard. I don't want to invent answers when we have documents we haven't examined.””
He nodded slowly.
I could see how hard he was trying to hold himself together.
“Then we'll find out.””
He looked at me.
“Together.””
For the first time, I understood that my father wasn't only trying to protect me.
He was frightened of what he might discover about the woman he had loved, the woman he had married afterward, and the family he thought he understood.
We left Eleanor's office with copies of the photograph and my mother's note.
Before we reached the car, Dad's phone rang.
Vanessa.
He stared at the screen, then answered.
“Richard,” she said, her voice trembling with indignation, “you need to come home immediately.””
“Why?””
“Because you've left your wife alone after allowing that woman to accuse her of stealing money.””
“Nobody has accused you of anything we haven't discussed.””
“She practically called me a thief!””
“Then explain the bank transfers.””
There was a pause.
“I told you. Your first wife asked me to help her.””
“Fine. I'll have the records reviewed.””
“You can't do that without my permission!””
Dad's eyebrows rose.
“Why not?””
“Because some of those accounts contain personal information.””
“Then you should have no problem providing the relevant documentation to a professional.””
“Richard, I am your wife!””
“And Nia is my daughter.””
The line went quiet.
Then Vanessa's voice turned cold.
“Be careful, Richard. You have no idea what you're bringing into this house.””
Dad ended the call.
I sat quietly in the passenger seat.
“Daddy?””
He turned toward me.
“Yes, sweetheart?””
“Are you scared?””
He looked surprised by the question.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.””
I hadn't expected him to admit it.
“Of Vanessa?””
“Of what I might have missed.””
He stared through the windshield.
“I thought I was giving you a safe home. I thought the people I trusted would protect you when I couldn't be there.””
He swallowed.
“And I was wrong.””
I reached across the console and took his hand.
“You're here now.””
He squeezed my fingers.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“I am.””
We drove to the old address written on the photograph.
The house stood in a quiet neighborhood on the other side of town, far from our mansion and the busy streets where Dad's company had its offices.
It was a modest brick house with white shutters and a narrow front porch. A large oak tree shaded the driveway.
The property had been sold, just as Dad remembered.
A silver sedan stood outside, and a woman in her sixties was watering flowers near the front steps.
Dad parked along the curb.
“Stay close to me,” he said gently.
I nodded.
We approached the woman.
“Excuse me,” Dad said.
“I'm Richard Bennett. My wife used to live here. Her name was Margaret.””
The woman lowered the watering can.
“Margaret Bennett?””
“Yes.””
Her expression changed.
“You're her husband?””
“I was.””
She studied his face for a moment.
Then she looked at me.
“And this must be her daughter.””
I swallowed.
“You knew my mother?””
The woman nodded.
“My name is Helen Parker. I bought this house from your father-in-law's estate years ago. Your mother was a lovely woman.””
Dad's shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Do you happen to remember a blue metal box?””
Helen stopped moving.
The watering can tilted in her hand, spilling water across the path.
“Who told you about that?””
Dad exchanged a glance with me.
“My wife left a note.””
Helen set the can down.
“I wondered when someone would come looking for it.””
My heart began pounding.
“You know where it is?””
Helen looked toward the house.
“Come inside.””
The living room smelled of lemon polish and freshly brewed tea. Family photographs lined the mantel, and a knitted blanket lay across the sofa.
Helen led us into a small study at the back of the house.
“I found the box while renovating the bedroom,” she explained.
“It was hidden behind a loose panel in the wardrobe. There were letters inside, but I didn't read them. I recognized Margaret's name, so I put everything back and stored it safely.””
“Why didn't you contact us?”” Dad asked.
“I tried.””
He frowned.
“What?””
“I sent a letter to the address listed on the old sale documents. It came back undelivered. After that, I didn't know where to find you.””
Helen opened a cupboard and removed a small metal container.
It was blue, just as the photograph had shown.
The paint had chipped along the corners, and a tiny silver keyhole sat beneath the lid.
I reached into my pocket.
My hand shook as I inserted the key.
It turned with a soft click.
Inside were several envelopes, a small notebook, and a hospital identification bracelet.
I picked up the bracelet.
The plastic had yellowed with age.
A name was printed across it.
*Lily Bennett.*
My father stared at it.
“Lily?””
Helen sat down slowly.
“Your wife had a baby before Nia was born.””
The room seemed to grow smaller.
Dad gripped the edge of the desk.
“No.””
Helen looked at him sadly.
“I'm afraid so.””
“My wife never had another child.””
“That's what she told you?””
Dad didn't answer.
I looked at the bracelet again.
Lily Bennett.
My mother's daughter.
My sister.
“Where is she?”” I asked.
Helen opened the notebook.
“I don't know. But Margaret wrote several letters about her.””
She handed me the first envelope.
The paper was fragile, but the handwriting was unmistakable.
I unfolded the letter.
My darling Lily,
I hope one day you will understand that I never stopped loving you. I was told you were safe, and I believed the people who promised to protect you. If I had known what would happen, I would have fought harder.
I stopped reading.
My eyes burned.
“Daddy,” I whispered.
“Mommy had another baby.””
Dad sat heavily in the chair beside me.
“Apparently.””
“Why didn't she tell you?””
He shook his head.
“I don't know.””
Helen opened the notebook to a page marked with a ribbon.
“There's a date here,” she said.
“Margaret wrote that she was trying to find her daughter.””
Dad leaned forward.
The date was nine years before my birth.
A note beneath it read:
Vanessa says Lily is safe. She says the adoption papers are complete. But I haven't seen the child myself.
Dad looked up sharply.
“Adoption papers?””
Helen nodded.
I continued reading.
I asked Vanessa to arrange the adoption because I was ill and believed I could not care for another child. She promised Lily would be placed with a loving family. Now she refuses to tell me where my daughter has gone.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“Vanessa arranged it?””
Dad's expression hardened.
“She was involved in this before she married me.””
Helen turned another page.
There was a photocopy of a legal document.
The paper contained several names, but the ink had faded.
Dad examined it carefully.
“This looks like an adoption agreement.””
He traced a line with his finger.
“Margaret's signature is here.””
Then he looked lower on the page.
“And this is Vanessa's.””
I stared at the signature.
It matched the name on the note.
But another section had been crossed out, and the name of the adoptive family was missing.
“Can we find them?”” I asked.
Dad carefully placed the paper back inside the box.
“We'll try.””
Helen took a breath.
“There may be another clue.””
She reached into the notebook and found a small folded card.
Inside was a photograph of a woman holding a baby.
The woman had dark hair and wore a simple hospital gown.
I turned the photograph over.
My mother's handwriting read:
Lily, three days before she left.
Beneath the words was an address.
And a name.
*St. Anne's Children's Home.*
Dad stood immediately.
“That's an old institution. It closed years ago.””
“Do you know where its records went?”” Helen asked.
“I might be able to find out.””
He pulled out his phone and called his company's legal adviser.
While he spoke, I kept reading the notebook.
There were more letters.
Some were addressed to Lily. Others were addressed to Vanessa.
One letter had never been sealed.
I opened it carefully.
Vanessa,
You promised me Lily would have a safe home. You promised me you would never use her to punish me. If you have lied to me, I will make sure the truth comes out.
My stomach twisted.
Dad ended his call.
“What's wrong?”” he asked when he saw my expression.
I handed him the letter.
He read it in silence.
Then he looked at the hospital bracelet, the adoption document, and the photograph of my mother holding a baby.
“Vanessa knew where your sister went,” he said.
I swallowed.
“Maybe she still does.””
Dad nodded slowly.
“Maybe.””
For a moment, we sat in silence.
Then Helen spoke.
“There's something else I should tell you.””
We both turned toward her.
“About six months ago, a young woman came to this house asking about Margaret. She said she had been adopted and was trying to learn about her birth family.””
My heart seemed to stop.
“What did she look like?””
Helen closed her eyes, remembering.
“Dark hair. Brown eyes. She was probably in her early twenties.””
Dad's hands tightened.
“Did she give you her name?””
Helen nodded.
“She said her name was Lily.””
I stood so quickly that the chair scraped across the floor.
“She's alive?””
Helen nodded again.
“She believed Margaret was her birth mother. She was trying to find her.””
Tears flooded my eyes.
My sister was alive.
Somewhere in the world, the little girl from the photograph had grown up without knowing us.
“Did she leave a phone number?”” Dad asked urgently.
Helen searched a drawer and removed a small card.
“She gave me this.””
Dad took it.
The number had been written in blue ink, with a name beneath it.
*Lily Morgan.*
I reached for the card.
“Can we call her?””
Dad hesitated.
“We can try.””
He dialed the number on speaker.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a woman's voice answered.
“Hello?””
Dad looked at me.
“Lily? My name is Richard Bennett. I believe I'm your mother's husband.””
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
“Who gave you this number?””
“Your name was left with a woman who knew your birth mother.””
Another pause.
Then Lily spoke, her voice trembling.
“My birth mother was Margaret Bennett.””
Dad closed his eyes.
“Yes.””
“Is she alive?””
The question broke something inside me.
Dad swallowed.
“No, I'm sorry. She passed away when my daughter Nia was five.””
There was a quiet sound on the other end of the line.
A sob.
I pressed both hands over my mouth.
Lily was crying, too.
After a moment, she whispered, “I always wanted to meet her.””
Dad's eyes filled with tears.
“I know.””
“Did she ever look for me?””
He looked down at the notebook.
“Yes. She did.””
I leaned toward the phone.
“Lily?””
The line went quiet.
“Who is this?””
“My name is Nia. I'm your sister.””
A shaky breath came through the speaker.
“My sister?””
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.
“Yes.””
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Lily asked the question that changed everything.
“Nia, before we talk about meeting, I need to ask you something.””
“Anything.””
“Is Vanessa Bennett still married to Richard?””
Dad looked at me.
My stomach tightened.
“Yes,” I answered.
“She's my stepmother.””
Lily began to cry harder.
“Oh, God.””
“What is it?”” I asked.
May you like
Her voice dropped to a frightened whisper.
“Then she never told you what she did to me.””
