Chapter 8: The DNA Test
For one heartbeat, nobody moved.
The laptop screen remained black.
The words were gone.
But I could still see them in my mind.
*DNA TEST PENDING — SUBJECT: MARISSA VALE.*
I turned toward my mother.
“Is that true?””
She didn't answer.
“Mom.””
Her eyes closed.
That was enough.
Something inside me broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
It simply stopped.
The last piece of certainty I had been holding onto disappeared.
“You tested me.””
My mother opened her eyes.
“I had to.””
“Had to?””
My voice rose.
“You let me believe you were my mother.””
“I am your mother.””
“Then why would you need a DNA test?””
She stepped forward.
I stepped back.
“Don't.””
“Marissa, please.””
“Don't call me that like everything is normal.””
Eleanor stood behind her, watching.
For the first time, she wasn't smirking.
She looked frightened.
I turned to her.
“You knew.””
She swallowed.
“Yes.””
“How long?””
“Years.””
I laughed bitterly.
“So everyone knew except me.””
“That isn't fair.””
“Fair?””
I pointed at the wall.
“My father was erased. My marriage was a setup. My money was stolen.
Someone followed me. My mother vanished. And now I'm standing in a room full of evidence that my own identity is a question.””
My voice cracked.
“Tell me what is real.””
Eleanor looked at my mother.
My mother shook her head.
“You should tell her.””
Eleanor's jaw tightened.
“No.””
“Then I will.””
Eleanor stepped toward her.
“Don't.””
“She's our daughter.””
The room went silent.
I stopped breathing.
“Our?””
I looked between them.
“What did you just say?””
My mother stared at the floor.
Eleanor finally spoke.
“The DNA test isn't to determine whether you're my daughter.””
She swallowed.
“It is to determine whether you're hers.””
I stared at my mother.
“She isn't your biological mother.””
I felt the room disappear around me.
“You're lying.””
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.””
I looked at my mother.
“Say something.””
She couldn't.
“Mom!””
She covered her face.
“I carried you.””
I froze.
“What?””
“I gave birth to you.””
“Then why—”
“I am your biological mother.””
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“She's telling the truth.””
I looked from one woman to the other.
“What was Richard talking about?””
My mother finally lifted her head.
“Richard had reason to believe I had been replaced.””
“Replaced?””
“After you were born.””
I stared at her.
“By whom?””
She whispered a name.
“Richard's organization.””
My stomach turned.
“They believed you weren't his daughter.””
“He was my father.””
“No.””
She looked at me.
“Richard believed you were someone else's child.””
“Whose?””
My mother shook her head.
“We don't know.””
Eleanor spoke quietly.
“That is why the testing began.””
My head throbbed.
“Wait.””
I held up a hand.
“Start over.””
Neither moved.
“Who is Richard?””
My mother took a breath.
“Your biological father is unknown.””
I stared at her.
“But the test in the file says—”
“It was a preliminary test.””
“Against whom?””
“Richard.””
My blood ran cold.
“What?””
My mother nodded.
“Richard ordered a DNA comparison years ago.””
“Why?””
“Because he suspected you weren't his.””
“And what were the results?””
“Never finalized.””
“Why?””
“Because Jonathan destroyed the sample.””
I looked toward the laptop.
“And now someone is testing me again.””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
My mother hesitated.
“Your father's people.””
“Which father?””
“Richard.””
That name made my skin crawl.
“Is he alive?””
“Yes.””
“You said he disappeared.””
“He did.””
“You said he was dangerous.””
“He is.””
“You said he was behind everything.””
“I believe he is.””
I looked at Eleanor.
“Then why did you tell me he was dead?””
She stared at me.
“Because everyone needed you to believe that.””
“Everyone?””
She nodded.
“Jonathan. Your mother. Anthony. Me.””
I felt sick.
“Anthony knew Richard was alive?””
“Yes.””
“For how long?””
“Since he was nineteen.””
My throat tightened.
“And the entire marriage…”
Eleanor looked away.
“Anthony was assigned to stay close to you.””
“Assigned.””
“Yes.””
“By his father.””
“Yes.””
I thought of every dinner.
Every anniversary.
Every time Anthony had touched my face and told me I was the only person who understood him.
My chest hurt.
“Did he ever love me?””
Eleanor didn't answer.
I stared at her.
“Did he?””
“I don't know.””
That answer was worse than no.
A soft chime came from the laptop.
A new video opened automatically.
A man's face appeared.
Richard Whitmore.
Older than the photograph.
But unmistakable.
He sat in what looked like a dark study.
A glass of whiskey rested beside him.
He looked directly into the camera.
“Marissa.””
I stepped closer.
“You've finally opened the room.””
My mother's breathing became uneven.
Richard smiled.
“I knew eventually you would.””
I wanted to tear the screen off the desk.
“You've lied to her for years,” Richard continued.
“But I understand why.””
His gaze shifted.
Straight toward my mother.
“You were afraid she'd learn what happened the night she was born.””
My mother whispered, “No.””
Richard continued.
“Jonathan wasn't the only man involved.””
I looked at the screen.
“What does that mean?””
The video wasn't interactive.
He couldn't hear me.
But it felt as though he could.
“Your mother knows where the original records are.””
The screen changed.
A hospital photograph appeared.
Then a second.
Then a third.
A delivery room.
A newborn child.
A handwritten tag.
I leaned closer.
The tag had my mother's name.
But the baby's surname wasn't Vale.
It wasn't Whitmore.
It was a different name.
One I'd never heard.
*HART.*
I looked at my mother.
“What is Hart?””
She began crying.
“Marissa…”
“Who is Hart?””
She shook her head.
“Please.””
“WHO IS HART?””
Eleanor stepped in.
“A woman.””
“What woman?””
“The woman who actually gave birth to you.””
The world tilted.
I looked at my mother.
“You said you carried me.””
“I did.””
“Then why does that hospital record say Hart?””
She whispered:
“Because there were two babies.””
Silence.
I stared at her.
“What?””
Her hands trembled.
“That night, there were two girls born.””
“Twins?””
“No.””
“Then what?””
“Two unrelated babies.””
My mouth went dry.
“One of them was you.””
“And the other?””
She looked toward Eleanor.
Eleanor answered.
“She disappeared.””
“Why?””
“Because someone switched the records.””
“Who?””
Nobody spoke.
The video on the laptop continued.
Richard's voice returned.
“Jonathan believed he could use the confusion to hide you.””
My mother stepped toward the desk.
“He's lying.””
“Is he?””
She looked at me.
“No.””
That answer hit me harder than everything else.
“You knew.””
“Yes.””
“You knew there was another baby.””
“Yes.””
“Who was she?””
“I don't know.””
“Where is she?””
“I don't know.””
I looked at Eleanor.
“You do.””
She didn't answer.
“Eleanor.””
Her face tightened.
“I know where the records are.””
“Where?””
She pointed toward the locked cabinet.
“Below.””
I turned.
The steel door was already open.
Inside the chamber, the floor looked solid.
Until I noticed a narrow seam.
I crouched.
My fingers traced the edges.
“There's a compartment.””
Eleanor nodded.
“Jonathan built it.””
I looked at my mother.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because if you knew what you were, they would know where to find you.””
“Who am I?””
She whispered:
“The girl they were supposed to erase.””
A metallic click sounded beneath the floor.
A panel opened.
Inside was a small black case.
I pulled it out.
No lock.
No label.
Just a strip of white paper.
*OPEN AFTER THE DIVORCE.*
My hands went cold.
“They knew I'd divorce Anthony.””
Eleanor shook her head.
“Not exactly.””
I looked at her.
“Then what?””
“They knew Anthony would eventually try to take control of the account.””
“What account?””
“The one your father left you.””
I opened the case.
Inside was a USB drive.
A passport.
And an old photograph.
I picked up the passport.
My breath caught.
It had my photograph.
My face.
My date of birth.
But the name was different.
*MARISSA HART.*
My mother gasped.
I turned the passport over.
It had been issued fifteen years ago.
The date matched the year of my father's supposed death.
I looked at Eleanor.
“What is this?””
“A second identity.””
“For me?””
“Yes.””
“Who created it?””
“Jonathan.””
“Why?””
“So if the Whitmores came looking, you could disappear.””
I stared at the passport.
Then I opened the photograph.
It showed two teenage girls.
One was me.
The other looked almost exactly like me.
Not identical.
But close enough to make my blood run cold.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same small scar above the eyebrow.
I turned the photograph over.
A handwritten note covered the back.
*One is Marissa.*
*One is Hannah.*
*Only one of them knows which one she is.*
I looked at my mother.
“Hannah who?””
She started shaking.
Eleanor moved toward the door.
“Marissa.””
I turned.
She looked toward the hallway.
“We need to leave.””
“Why?””
Her face had gone white.
“Because that name belongs to the only person Richard has never been able to find.””
Footsteps echoed outside.
Several of them.
Coming closer.
I grabbed the USB drive.
“Who is Hannah?””
Eleanor whispered:
“The woman who has been using your identity.””
The office door handle began to turn.
And then a woman's voice came from the other side.
My voice.
“Marissa?””
I froze.
The voice laughed softly.
“It's okay.””
The door opened.
A woman stepped into the room.
She had my face.
My eyes.
My smile.
And the same scar above her eyebrow.
She looked at me for a long moment.
May you like
Then whispered:
“You finally found me, sister.””
