Chapter 6: The Child Nobody Remembered
The message on my phone stayed on the screen for less than ten seconds.
But it changed everything.
*Now you know why your mother lied. But you still don’t know what happened to the child she lost eighteen years ago.*
I read it again.
Then again.
My fingers went cold.
“What happened eighteen years ago?”” I whispered.
Nobody answered.
Not my father.
Not Daniel.
Not my mother.
That silence told me more than any confession could.
I looked at Nicole.
“Mom.””
She didn’t move.
“Who sent that?””
Her face had gone completely pale.
“Maya…”
“No.””
My voice shook.
“I’m tired of everyone knowing things except me.””
The doctor quietly stepped outside, giving us privacy.
My father looked at Nicole.
“Explain.””
She sat down slowly.
“I had a baby before Maya.””
The words hit the room like a crash.
I stared at her.
“What?””
Daniel closed his eyes.
Like he had been expecting this.
My father looked at him.
“You knew?””
Daniel looked away.
“Not everything.””
My mother covered her face.
“I was nineteen.””
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I was young. I had no money. No support.
My parents were furious. They told me I ruined my life.””
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You had another child?””
She nodded.
“A daughter.””
My heartbeat became louder.
“What happened to her?””
My mother started crying.
“She disappeared.””
Nobody spoke.
“Disappeared?””
My father’s voice was filled with disbelief.
“What do you mean disappeared?””
Nicole looked at him.
“I gave birth alone. The baby was sick. The hospital said she needed special care.””
“And?””
“They transferred her.””
“To where?””
She looked down.
“I don’t know.””
The anger on my father’s face changed into confusion.
“You don’t know where your own child went?””
“I was told she didn’t survive.””
I stared at her.
“Then why did that message say otherwise?””
My mother didn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know.
Or because she was afraid.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
Daniel walked closer.
“Maya.””
I looked at him.
“There’s something else.””
Of course there was.
There was always something else.
“What?””
Daniel reached into his jacket and pulled out an old envelope.
“I found this three weeks ago.””
My mother looked at it.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?””
“It was in my father’s old storage box.””
My father frowned.
“Your father?””
Daniel nodded.
“Our father.””
The room went quiet.
My uncle continued.
“After Dad died, I went through his things. I found letters. Medical records. Photos.””
He handed me the envelope.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A baby.
Wrapped in a pink blanket.
On the back, written in faded ink:
*Baby Girl Carter. August 14.*
My breath stopped.
August 14.
The same date from the message.
I looked at my mother.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
She cried.
“Because I thought she was gone.””
“But you never checked?””
“I tried.””
“When?””
She looked away.
“That’s not the whole truth.””
My father’s jaw tightened.
“What does that mean?””
My mother whispered:
“I stopped looking.””
The room became silent.
I felt something inside me break.
“You stopped?””
She nodded.
“Because someone convinced me.””
“Who?””
She didn’t answer.
My father stepped forward.
“Nicole.””
Her lips trembled.
“My father.””
Daniel looked shocked.
“Our father?””
She nodded.
“He told me the baby died.””
Daniel shook his head.
“That’s impossible.””
“Why?””
“Because I found this.””
He pulled out another paper.
A hospital document.
The top was damaged, but the information was clear.
Patient: Nicole Carter.
Infant status: Transferred.
Not deceased.
My mother grabbed the paper.
Her hands started shaking.
“No.””
Daniel looked at her.
“She wasn’t dead.””
My mother covered her mouth.
“She was alive.””
Nobody spoke.
Then I noticed something.
A small line at the bottom.
A signature.
A name.
The person who approved the transfer.
I leaned closer.
And my stomach dropped.
Because I recognized the name.
“Dad…”
My father looked at me.
“What?””
I pointed.
“This signature.””
His face changed.
Because it belonged to someone he knew.
Someone who had been part of our family for years.
“Who is this?”” I asked.
My father stared at the paper.
Then whispered:
“My father.””
My grandfather.
A man who had died before I was old enough to remember him.
A man who supposedly had nothing to do with my mother’s past.
A man who had apparently been hiding the biggest secret of all.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time, there was a photo attached.
I opened it.
My heart stopped.
It was a picture of a woman.
Around my age.
Standing outside the hospital.
May you like
Underneath it were five words:
*She is your sister.*
