The curve of his chin.
I lifted my trembling hand.
I stopped before touching his face.
“Where did you get that birthmark?”
Stefan frowned.
“My mom says I was born with it.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“What day?”
He told me.
The exact date.
The date my twins were born.
I closed my eyes.
For eight years, I had carried one photograph in my mind.
Two tiny babies.
Two identical faces.
Two little bodies wrapped in white blankets.
Except I had never been allowed to hold the second one.
I had always thought grief had distorted my memory.
But suddenly I realized something.
I hadn’t forgotten my second baby.
I had never been given the chance to know him.
I stood up.
My knees were shaking.
I turned to Mark.
“Tell me the truth.”
He looked at me.
“Everything.”
His lips trembled.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Emma, you don’t understand.”
“No.”
I pointed toward Stefan.
“You’re right. I don’t understand.”
Then I pointed toward Cole.
“I don’t understand why my son has spent years fighting with a boy who claims they’re brothers.”
My voice broke.
“I don’t understand why that boy looks exactly like my child.”
I took another step toward Mark.
“And I don’t understand why you are standing here looking terrified.”
Mark’s eyes filled with tears.
For a moment, I thought he might finally tell me.
Instead, he whispered:
“Because Stefan isn’t the only thing you don’t know.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Mark looked toward Laura.
She shook her head.
“Tell her.”
He didn’t.
“Tell me!”
The principal stood up.
“Perhaps we should give everyone some privacy.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Nobody leaves.”
Mark stared at me.
I could see the battle happening inside him.
Then, finally, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
He pulled out an old envelope.
The paper was yellowed.
Creased.
Worn at the edges.
My name was written across the front.
My handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
I stared at the envelope.
“Where did you get that?”
Mark didn’t answer.
I reached for it.
He pulled it back.
“Not here.”
“Give it to me.”
“Emma, please.”
“Give it to me!”
He slowly handed it over.
My fingers shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
I pulled it out.
And my entire world disappeared.
Two newborn babies lay side by side.
Wrapped in identical white blankets.
One had a tiny hospital bracelet around his wrist.
The other did too.
I stared at the photograph.
My eyes moved to the bracelets.
The first one read:
COLE CARTER
The second one read:
STEFAN CARTER
I couldn’t breathe.
“No…”
The photograph slipped from my hand.
It landed on the floor.
Cole looked down at it.
Then at Stefan.
“Mom?”
Stefan stood up.
He walked toward us.
He picked up the photograph.
His eyes widened.
“That’s me.”
He looked at Cole.
“That’s you.”
The boys stared at each other.
And then Stefan whispered the words that shattered the last piece of my denial.
“We really are brothers.”
Mark covered his face with both hands.
Laura was sobbing.
But I wasn’t crying anymore.
I was too stunned.
Because there was one question still burning through my mind.
If Stefan had survived…
Why had Mark told me he was dead?
I looked at my husband.
“Why?”
He slowly lowered his hands.
His face was destroyed by guilt.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
He looked at Stefan.
Then at Laura.
And finally at me.
“That night at the hospital…”
He paused.
“Your baby didn’t die.”
My heart stopped.
Mark continued.
“He was alive.”
I stared at him.
“Then where was he?”
Mark’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“I gave him away.”
The words hit me harder than any physical blow.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t speak.
Cole started crying.
Stefan looked at his father with horror.
“You gave me away?”
Mark closed his eyes.
“I thought I was saving you.”
I stepped closer.
“You gave my son away?”
“Emma—”
“You gave MY BABY away?”
My scream echoed through the office.
Mark flinched.
The principal stood frozen.
Laura covered her mouth.
Stefan’s face had gone pale.
I pointed at Mark.
“You told me he died.”
“I know.”
“You let me mourn a living child.”
“I know.”
“You watched me spend eight years believing my baby was buried somewhere.”
Tears finally poured down my face.
“And all this time, he was alive.”
Mark began crying.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
He looked at me.
“Of what would happen if you found out.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
I grabbed his jacket.
“WHY?”
Mark looked toward the boys.
Then he whispered:
“Because Stefan was never supposed to be born.”
I froze.
“What?”
Laura suddenly stepped forward.
“That’s not the whole truth.”
Mark looked at her in terror.
“Laura.”
She shook her head.
“You’ve lied long enough.”
Then she turned to me.
“Emma…”
Her voice broke.
“There was another woman at the hospital that night.”
My blood turned cold again.
“Who?”
Laura looked at Mark.
“He knows her.”
“Who?”
Mark’s face went completely white.
Laura whispered the name.
And the moment I heard it, I realized something even more terrifying.
I knew that name too.
It belonged to someone who had disappeared from our lives eight years ago.
Someone I had trusted.
Someone who had been standing outside my hospital room the night my twins were born.
Someone who had told me everything would be okay.
Someone who had never once told me that my second baby was alive.
Part 3:
The name left Laura’s lips like a whisper.
“Rebecca.”
I stopped breathing.
Rebecca.
My younger sister.
For eight years, I had believed Rebecca was simply the person who had helped Mark during the worst days of my life.
She had visited me in the hospital.
She had brought me flowers.
She had sat beside my bed when I was too weak to sit up.
And after I came home, she had continued checking on me.
But three months after the twins were born, Rebecca had suddenly moved away.
She told me she needed a fresh start.
I had never questioned it.
Until now.
I looked at Mark.
“Rebecca?”
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Tell me she’s lying.”
He remained silent.
That silence was my answer.
I felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath me.
“My own sister?”
Mark finally spoke.