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PART 6 — The Hidden Girl
The whole truth arrived in a sealed envelope before dawn.
Dorian brought it in person.
Inside were medical records, emails, consent forms, and a photo of a woman I didn’t recognize.
She had black hair. My eyes. My mouth.
Under his photo was a name.
Mara Voss.
I looked up. “She looks like me.”
My father did not sit down.
He stood near the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, as if awaiting his judgment.
“She’s your sister,” he said.
The world fell silent.
Not so peaceful.
Silent.
My mother turned away.
I stared at them both. “My what?”
“Half-sister,” said my father. “Before marrying your mother, I had an affair with a woman named Clara Voss. She became pregnant. I only found out years later.”
My mother’s voice trembled. “When Thomas found out, Clara was already dead.”
“And Mara?” I asked.
“She had been raised by Clara’s parents,” my father said. “They wanted nothing to do with me. Mara wanted even less.”
I clutched the envelope in my hand. “So, the doctor who called me, it’s my sister?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I tried to contact her. She refused. I respected her choice.”
I laughed once, a jerky laugh. “You respect the boundaries of strangers, but you read your daughter’s medical file?”
He closed his eyes.
The wound hit its target.
I wanted it.
Dorian gently cleared his throat. “There’s something else.”
Of course, yes.
There was always more of it.
“Mara Voss worked at the clinic that processed several genetic screening reports related to embryos created from your samples.”
I felt nauseous.
“My samples?”
My father looked at Dorian.
Dorian’s face was grave. “During your fertility treatments, Adrian authorized additional genetic storage using forms with dubious signatures.”
“My signatures?”
“Probably a fake.”
I put both hands to my mouth.
The babies were sleeping at the end of the corridor, my beautiful sons, innocent and breathing peacefully.
“What did he do?”
Dorian’s reply came slowly.
“He was looking for male embryos.”
My mother made a small sound.
Adrian would have liked sons.
He had said it in a casual tone at first.
A boy would be named Vale.
Then, after learning I was expecting triplets, he celebrated loudly. He bought cigars. He called investors. He smiled at my belly as if it had finally gained value.
I thought it was joy.
It was a question of ownership.
“Were there other embryos?” I whispered.
Dorian didn’t respond quickly enough.
My knees buckled.
“How much?”
“Two female embryos remain preserved.”
My hand went to my abdomen, although there was no one there now.
Two girls.
Not born yet.
Not lost.
Waiting for.
Hidden in the paperwork.
I looked at my father. “Did you know?”
“No,” he replied immediately. “Not before last night.”
I believed him.
This almost made things worse.
Because it wasn’t his secrets that had caused all of this.
They had simply created the shadows where Adrian’s could grow.
That morning, at eight o’clock, Mara Voss arrived at Whitmore House.
She didn’t look like a bad person.
She looked exhausted.
Black hair pulled back. No makeup. A wool coat too thin for the cold. Her gaze met mine and lingered.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I’m sorry.”
It was strange.
I had heard excuses from doctors, nurses, and friends who didn’t know what to say.
But hers contained something else.
Guilt.
Awareness.
Blood.
“You are my sister,” I said.
Her lips tightened. “Biologically.”
My father stepped forward. “Mara…”
She raised her hand. “No. Not yet.”
He stopped.
She turned to me. “Adrian came to the clinic through a private genetics consultant. He wanted to control everything: the choice of sex, the reports on the embryos, access to storage. He paid well and threatened to get even more.”
“Who was threatened?”
“Me.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because I understood who you were.”
I was breathless.
Mara’s gaze fell on my father. “The Whitmore name is hard to miss if you know where to look. I confronted Adrian. He laughed. He told me you were just his wife and your family would never know.”
My father clenched his jaw.
Mara continued: “I had planned to report him. But he had copies of documents attesting to the clinic’s irregularities. Some were mine, others were not. Enough to make me lose my license to practice.”
“So you remained silent,” I said.
His face tightened slightly. “Yes.”
I wanted to hate her.
That would have been easier.
But then, Leo started crying in the baby’s room.
Mara’s face changed at the sound of that noise.
No calculation.
Not fear.
Desire.
“He said he wanted sons,” she murmured. “But once the embryos were selected, he ordered the other two to be eliminated.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Mara replied immediately. “I put them in a safe place. Illegally. Discreetly. I figured I’d keep them in reserve until I could repair the damage.”
My mother sat down abruptly.
My father murmured, “My God.”
Adrian had tried to erase girls who had never had the chance to breathe.
The room tilted around me.
And then, an unexpected event occurred.
I didn’t crack.
Got it.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Safe,” Mara said. “For now.”
“For now?”
She looked at Dorian. “Adrian filed a petition this morning, claiming control of all remaining reproductive material as part of the marital estate.”
Dorian swore under his breath.
Adrian didn’t just want the house.
He didn’t just want the money.
He wanted the sons.
He wanted his daughters hidden in the ice.
He wanted my entire maternity ward to be turned into property.
I got up.
A searing pain shot through me, but I remained standing.
“Then we’ll sue him.”
My father said, “Evelyn, you need time.”
“No,” I replied. “He has already benefited from five years of my time.”
I watched Mara.
“My daughters,” I said, the word strange and fierce coming from my mouth, “are not evidence. They are not assets. They are not his legacy.”
Mara nodded slowly.
And for the first time, she looked less like a foreigner.
“They are your children,” she said.