Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Locked Door
For three seconds, nobody moved.
My father stood beside the broken glass, staring toward the staircase as if he had seen a ghost.
Then Vanessa slipped her hand into his.
"Richard, you're upset," she said gently.
"You've had a long day. Let's sit down.""
"I'm fine," he replied.
"No, you're shaking.""
"I'm fine, Vanessa.""
He pulled his hand away and took a step toward the stairs.
My heart leaped.
"Dad!"" I called.
The room went silent again.
I hurried down two steps, clutching the banister.
"I'm right here!""
Vanessa moved faster than I expected. She crossed the room and positioned herself at the foot of the staircase.
"Emily, go back to your room.""
My father frowned.
"Why is she upstairs?""
Vanessa didn't turn around.
"She wasn't feeling well earlier.""
"That's not true!"" I said.
Several guests exchanged glances.
Vanessa finally looked at me. Her smile remained perfectly in place, but her eyes were hard.
"Emily, please. Don't do this tonight.""
My father looked between us.
"What's going on?""
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him everything. I wanted to explain that Vanessa had forbidden me from attending his birthday, that she had threatened me, and that I had spent the entire evening listening to my own family celebrate without me.
But something about the way she watched me made me hesitate.
She wasn't merely angry.
She was afraid.
And for the first time in years, I wondered whether Vanessa's greatest fear had something to do with me discovering the truth.
"Dad," I said carefully, "can I speak to you alone?""
Vanessa laughed softly.
"Of course. After dinner.""
"No," I replied.
"Now.""
Her smile vanished.
My father straightened.
"Emily, come down here.""
I took another step.
Vanessa caught my elbow.
"Richard, she's being disrespectful.""
He looked at her hand on my arm.
"Let go of her.""
She obeyed immediately.
That tiny moment gave me enough courage to continue down the stairs. I reached the living room and walked toward my father, feeling every guest's eyes follow me.
He looked older than he had that morning. The color had drained from his face, and his right hand trembled slightly.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"" he asked.
I wanted to hug him, but the strange tension in the room stopped me.
"I don't know," I whispered.
"Vanessa won't let me see you.""
His expression changed.
"What?""
"She said I would cause trouble if I came downstairs.""
He turned toward his wife.
"Is that true?""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"I was trying to protect your birthday. Emily has been difficult lately.""
"How?""
"Richard, we shouldn't discuss this in front of everyone.""
"You brought it up in front of everyone," I said.
Her eyes flashed.
My father raised a hand.
"Enough. Both of you.""
Then he looked at me.
"Emily, go to my study. I'll be there in five minutes.""
Relief flooded my chest.
"Okay.""
I walked toward the study, passing a table covered with gifts. Near the doorway, I noticed a large framed photograph I had never seen before.
It showed my father standing outside a hospital, holding a newborn baby.
Beside him stood Vanessa.
I stopped.
"What's this?"" I asked.
Vanessa appeared behind me so quickly that I nearly dropped my gift box.
"Leave it alone.""
I studied the picture.
My father looked much younger. Vanessa's hair was darker, her face rounder. The baby was wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
I pointed at the photograph.
"Whose baby is that?""
For the first time that evening, Vanessa lost control of her expression.
She snatched the frame from the table.
"Go to the study.""
"But why do you have a picture of a baby?""
"Because it's a photograph, Emily. People have photographs.""
"Who is it?""
She leaned close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume.
"You have no idea how much your father has sacrificed for you. Don't ruin everything because you can't stand not being the center of attention.""
I stared at her, stunned by the sudden accusation.
Before I could respond, my father called from across the room.
"Vanessa!""
She stepped away, forcing a smile back onto her face.
I entered the study and closed the door.
The room smelled of leather, old paper, and the cedar polish my father used on his desk. Everything was familiar: the brass lamp, the framed photograph of my mother, the worn armchair where he used to read bedtime stories to me.
I sat down and waited.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
I heard guests leaving the living room. Someone switched off the music. Plates clattered in the kitchen.
Finally, the door opened.
My father entered alone.
He looked exhausted.
"Sweetheart," he said, sitting opposite me.
"I'm sorry about tonight.""
I swallowed.
"Why didn't you know I was upstairs?""
He rubbed his forehead.
"Vanessa told me you wanted to be left alone.""
"She lied.""
"I know that now.""
I searched his face.
"Dad, what's going on?""
He looked toward the closed door.
"There's something I should have told you a long time ago.""
My pulse quickened.
"About what?""
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
For several seconds, he simply stared at his hands.
"When your mother was alive," he finally said, "there were things in our marriage that you were too young to understand.""
I felt my throat tighten.
"What things?""
He shook his head.
"That's not the important part.""
"Then what is?""
He stood and walked toward the window.
"Emily, if I ask you something, I need you to answer honestly.""
"Okay.""
"Have you ever found any old medical records, birth certificates, or letters belonging to your mother?""
I frowned.
"Why?""
"Have you?""
"No. Not that I remember.""
He turned around.
"Think carefully.""
I tried.
My mother had kept boxes of photographs in the attic, along with old Christmas cards and recipe books. After she died, Dad had stored most of her belongings in a locked cabinet in his bedroom.
Vanessa had taken control of the house not long after they married.
"I found some of Mom's letters years ago," I said.
"But nothing medical.""
My father closed his eyes.
"What letters?""
"Just ordinary letters. She wrote to her sister. There was one envelope with a hospital logo, but it was empty.""
He went completely still.
"What hospital?""
"I don't remember.""
He crossed the room and knelt in front of me.
"Emily, listen to me. If you ever find that envelope, don't throw it away.""
I stared at him.
"Why would I throw it away?""
His lips parted, but no answer came.
Then a loud knock struck the study door.
Vanessa entered without waiting.
"Richard, your guests are asking where you are.""
"We're talking.""
"About what?""
"Family matters.""
She looked at me, then at him.
"I see.""
Her gaze dropped to the desk, where my father's old key ring lay beside a stack of papers.
Without warning, she reached for it.
My father stood.
"Don't touch that.""
The sharpness in his voice made us both freeze.
Vanessa slowly withdrew her hand.
Then she smiled.
"Of course, darling.""
She turned toward the door, but before leaving, she looked directly at me.
"Emily, your room. Now.""
This time, my father said nothing.
I rose slowly, hurt more by his silence than by her command.
As I passed Vanessa, she whispered, "You should have stayed upstairs.""
I returned to my bedroom and shut the door.
For several minutes, I sat motionless, replaying every word my father had said.
Medical records.
Birth certificates.
My mother's letters.
Why would any of those things matter now?
Then I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, while searching for an old photo album in the attic, I had discovered a loose floorboard beneath a stack of dusty boxes.
Underneath it was a small metal tin.
Inside the tin were several photographs, a hospital bracelet, and a folded document with my mother's name printed across the top.
I hadn't understood what the document meant.
So I had hidden it inside the lining of my old jewelry box.
My hands began to shake.
I crossed the room, pulled the box from the drawer, and tore open the loose fabric.
The document was still there.
I unfolded it beneath my desk lamp.
At the top, in faded black lettering, were the words:
*NEWBORN PATIENT RECORD — MATERNITY WARD.*
Beneath my mother's name was a date.
The date I was born.
But the line marked Biological Father contained a name I had never seen before.
May you like
And written beside it, in red ink, were three words that made the entire room seem to tilt around me.
*PATERNITY NOT CONFIRMED.*
