Fourteen months of grief collapsed into one impossible moment. Then the technician cleared her throat. “There is a second result.” Damian looked back. “What second result?” “You requested full comparative sequencing.” His expression sharpened. “Yes.” The technician looked uncomfortable. “The children’s paternal profile produced an unusual match inside the reference sample Mr. Marchetti provided.” I looked between them. “What does that mean?”
Damian frowned. “My sample was only provided to exclude a relationship.” The technician hesitated. “It did not exclude one.” My heart stopped again. “What?” She handed Damian the paper. His eyes moved down the page. Then he went absolutely still. I had seen him angry. Cold. Threatening. Confused. I had never seen him afraid. “Damian?” He didn’t answer. I took the page from his hand. The terminology meant nothing at first. Probability. Allelic markers. Kinship coefficient. Then I found the conclusion. The biological father of the triplets was not Damian Marchetti.
But the paternal DNA showed a first-degree familial relationship to him.
I looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Damian’s voice came out low.
“It means their father is either my father…”
He stopped.
Vincent entered the room at that exact moment.
His face was grim.
“Boss.”
Damian looked at him.
“What?”
“We found Claire.”
My grip tightened around the report.
“Where?”
Vincent’s answer came slowly.
“At Patricia Carter’s house.”
Hope flared.
“Is my mother there?”
Vincent looked at me.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
He held up a phone.
“Claire was alone. The house had been cleared out.”
Damian stepped forward.
“Did she talk?”
“She said she’d only speak to Emily.”
Every instinct told me not to go.
I went anyway.
Claire sat inside Damian’s private security office less than an hour later.
She looked older than the woman from the hospital.
Tired.
Thin.
But still unmistakable.
The moment I entered, she closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
I nearly lunged across the table.
Damian caught my arm.
“Sorry?”
Claire started crying.
“I kept them alive.”
“You stole them.”
“I kept them alive.”
“From who?”
Her eyes moved to Damian.
“From Vittorio.”
Damian’s jaw clenched.
“Why would my father want Emily’s babies?”
Claire looked back at me.
“Because they were never supposed to be Emily’s.”
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Claire’s lips trembled.
“Your pregnancy was part of a fertility program.”
My skin turned cold.
“No.”
“You thought you conceived naturally.”
“I did.”
“No, Emily.”
I backed away.
She continued.
“Michael drugged you during a clinic visit.”
My stomach rolled.
Damian looked murderous.
Claire rushed on.
“They implanted embryos without your knowledge.”
The room seemed to spin.
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“No.”
“The pregnancy wasn’t genetically planned around you. You were selected because of your age, health and family history.”
I stared at the DNA report.
“But it says I’m their mother.”
Claire nodded.
“Because the embryos were created using your eggs.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You had eggs retrieved years earlier during a procedure you were told was for ovarian testing.”
I remembered.
Age twenty-three.
Pain.
An outpatient appointment.
My mother insisting I go.
I nearly collapsed.
“Who fertilized them?”
Claire looked at Damian.
He went pale.
Then the door behind us opened.
Everyone turned.
A security guard entered first.
Behind him was my mother.
Patricia Carter looked ten years older than she had the last time I saw her.
Her coat was wet.
Her eyes were swollen.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
Then at the children’s DNA report in my hand.
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head.
“No more apologies.”
She began crying.
“Tell me who their father is.”
She didn’t answer.
I stepped toward her.
“Tell me.”
Damian’s phone rang.
He ignored it.
Then Vincent’s rang.
He answered.
His eyes changed.
“Boss.”
No one moved.
Vincent lowered the phone.
“Security just identified the paternal DNA.”
Damian stared at him.
“How?”
“Old medical sample in the family archive.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Damian asked the question I suddenly couldn’t.
“Who is it?”
Vincent looked first at Damian.
Then at me.
“It isn’t Vittorio.”
My mother began sobbing harder.
Damian’s voice dropped.
“Then who?”
Vincent hesitated.
“The triplets’ biological father was Matteo Marchetti.”
Damian stopped breathing.
I whispered, “Who is Matteo?”
Nobody answered.
Then Damian looked at me with an expression that made my blood turn cold.
“My older brother.”
I swallowed.
“Where is he?”
Damian’s face went blank.
“He died fifteen years ago.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
Every person in the room turned toward her.
She reached inside her coat and removed an old photograph.
A man stood beside her.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Hazel-eyed.
The same eyes as my children.
The same eyes as me.
On the back, written in fading ink, were six words.
Matteo and Patricia. Summer of 1999.
I looked at my mother.
Then the photograph.
Then the children.
“Mom…”
Her face crumpled.
And with one sentence, she destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself.
“Emily, Matteo Marchetti wasn’t only the father of your children.”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“He was your father too.”
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
One Comment on “PART 4-Three screaming toddlers went completely silent the moment they saw me, then reached across a crowded diner and called me Mama in front of the most feared man in the city.”