Chapter 8 - The Child Barbara Lost
“Jennifer is not Diana’s biological daughter.”
For several seconds, Michael simply stared at Richard.
Then he sank into the chair beside Claire’s hospital bed.
Barbara remained standing.
She could not sit.
If she sat, she feared she might never get up again.
“My son,” she whispered.
Nobody answered.
Barbara looked at Richard.
“My biological son was taken by Thomas Parker.”
“Yes.”
“And Michael…”
Her eyes moved to the man she had raised.
“…was Diana and Daniel’s baby.”
Richard nodded.
“And Robert knew.”
“Yes.”
The word cut deeper than everything else.
Barbara turned away.
For thirty-four years, Robert had slept beside her.
He had watched Michael take his first steps.
He had helped Barbara through nights of asthma attacks.
He had attended parent conferences, birthdays, graduations.
Every single day, Robert had looked at the boy they called their son knowing another child existed somewhere.
Barbara pressed a hand against her mouth.
“How could he do that to me?”
Richard’s voice was quiet.
“He thought your biological son was dead.”
Barbara turned sharply.
“You just said he disappeared.”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Richard looked exhausted.
“The private adoption intermediary Thomas used reported that the infant died during transport.”
Barbara felt something inside her break.
“And Robert believed that?”
“For years.”
“For years?”
Michael stood again.
“Meaning he later discovered the baby survived.”
Richard did not answer.
Michael’s voice rose.
“When?”
“Michael—”
“When did Dad find out?”
Richard looked at Barbara.
“Seven years before he died.”
Barbara stepped backward.
Robert had known.
Seven years.
Seven years in which he could have told her.
Seven years in which he kissed her goodnight.
Seven years in which he watched her love Michael without knowing the truth.
“Where was my child?”
“We never confirmed it.”
“We?”
“Robert and I.”
“You helped him search?”
“Yes.”
Barbara laughed through tears.
“How noble.”
Richard absorbed the cruelty without reacting.
“We found evidence that Thomas had lied about the child’s death.”
“And you said nothing to me.”
“Robert believed telling you before we found him would destroy you.”
“He had already destroyed me. I simply didn’t know it.”
Claire turned her face away.
Michael stood between Barbara and Richard.
“Enough.”
Barbara looked at him.
His eyes were wet.
“I know you need answers,” Michael said. “But we’re not getting them all tonight.”
Barbara stared at him.
For one terrible instant she saw Daniel in his face.
Not Robert.
Not herself.
Daniel.
The realization hurt.
Michael saw it.
His expression changed.
“Mom?”
Barbara reached for him.
He hesitated.
Only half a second.
But Barbara felt it.
Then he stepped into her arms.
She held him.
“My son,” she whispered.
This time she said it deliberately.
Michael closed his eyes.
“I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re Michael.”
“What does that mean now?”
“It means everything it meant yesterday.”
He pulled away.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes.”
“My father is Daniel.”
“Biologically.”
“My mother is Diana.”
“Biologically.”
“And the woman I married was raised by them.”
Barbara’s heart tightened.
“Yes.”
Michael wiped his face.
“Jennifer knew something.”
Claire nodded weakly.
“She was investigating.”
“But did she know about the switch before we married?”
Richard answered.
“I doubt it.”
Michael glared at him.
“You’ve been wrong before.”
“Yes.”
The admission disarmed him.
Barbara turned to Claire.
“You said Jennifer requested Margaret Cole’s address.”
“Yes.”
“Then Margaret is our next answer.”
Michael nodded.
“We go to Vermont.”
“Not we.”
He stared.
“Mom.”
“You have two children upstairs in a house someone broke into.”
“And you have someone watching your home.”
“Then neither of us should go alone.”
Richard spoke.
“I’ll take Barbara.”
“No.”
Both Barbara and Michael answered simultaneously.
Richard almost smiled.
Barbara did not.
“I’m going,” Michael said.
Barbara studied him.
He needed this as much as she did.
Perhaps more.
“Fine.”
Richard stepped forward.
“You need someone who knows Margaret.”
Barbara frowned.
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do.”
“Barbara—”
“Is there anyone in this story you don’t secretly know?”
Claire gave a weak laugh, then winced.
Even Michael almost smiled.
The tension broke for one second.
Then Claire said, “There’s another reason you need to reach Margaret before Jennifer.”
Barbara looked at her.
“What?”
“Margaret didn’t just work in neonatal care.”
“What else?”
“She maintained private birth records for St. Mary’s.”
Michael frowned.
“So?”
Claire looked at him.
“If anyone preserved the original identification data before Robert changed the records, it would be her.”
Barbara’s heart quickened.
“You mean she can prove which baby was which.”
“Yes.”
“And possibly where my biological son went.”
Claire nodded.
Barbara reached for her coat.
“We leave now.”
---
They drove north before sunrise.
Michael arranged for Lily and Noah to stay with a police-protected family friend. Jennifer still did not answer.
Barbara tried not to think about that.
Richard drove.
Barbara sat beside him.
Michael occupied the back seat with Robert’s metal box on his lap.
Snow turned the highway into a white corridor.
For the first hour, nobody spoke.
Then Michael said:
“Tell me about Daniel.”
Richard looked at Barbara.
She stared through the windshield.
“You knew him better.”
Barbara almost laughed.
“Apparently I knew everyone better than I remember.”
Still, she began.
“Daniel was charming.”
Michael listened.
“He could walk into a room and make strangers feel like they had known him forever.”
“Was he a bad person?”
“No.”
Barbara considered it.
“He was reckless.”
“How?”
“Money. Jobs. Women. Plans. Daniel believed consequences were things that happened to people with less imagination.”
Michael looked down.
“That sounds familiar.”
Barbara turned.
Michael smiled sadly.
“Me.”
She did not deny it.
“He loved Robert,” Barbara continued. “But he resented him too.”
“Why?”
“Robert was dependable. Daniel wasn’t. Families can turn reliability into a weapon without realizing it.”
Richard nodded.
“Their father constantly compared them.”
Michael looked at Barbara.
“And Daniel loved Diana?”
“I don’t remember.”
Richard answered.
“Yes.”
Barbara looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Daniel told me.”
“When?”
“After Mercy House.”
“You spoke to him afterward?”
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
Richard’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“He said Robert had stolen his son.”
Michael went still.
Barbara stared at Richard.
“You told me Daniel disappeared immediately.”
“He did. After that meeting.”
“Why didn’t you mention it?”
“Because Daniel threatened Robert.”
Michael leaned forward.
“What kind of threat?”
“He said if Robert didn’t return the baby, he would expose everything.”
“Everything meaning the switch?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because Robert convinced him the baby was dead.”
Michael looked out the window.
“My father spent thirty-four years believing I was dead.”
Barbara corrected softly:
“Maybe.”
Michael looked at her.
“We don’t know what Daniel learned later.”
The phone call from Daniel replayed in Barbara’s mind.
He knew Michael.
He knew Mercy House.
He knew Evelyn.
He knew far more than a man who had believed his child dead for decades should know.
Barbara looked at Richard.
“When did Daniel learn Michael was his son?”
Richard’s eyes stayed on the road.
“I don’t know.”
“But he knows now.”
“Yes.”
“Then why hasn’t he approached Michael?”
Michael answered.
“Maybe he has.”
Barbara turned.
“What?”
Michael took out his phone.
“There’s someone I met three years ago.”
Richard glanced in the mirror.
“Who?”
“He called himself David.”
Barbara’s pulse quickened.
“What did he want?”
“He said he had worked with Dad.”
“Where did you meet?”
“At a technology conference in Boston.”
Michael swallowed.
“He took an unusual interest in me.”
“How unusual?”
“He asked about Mom. About Dad. About my childhood.”
Barbara felt cold.
“Did you see him again?”
“Several times.”
“And you never mentioned him?”
“I thought he was just networking.”
“Do you have a photograph?”
Michael searched his phone.
Eventually he found one.
He held it forward.
Barbara stopped breathing.
Older.
Gray hair.
Lines around the eyes.
But unmistakable.
Daniel.
“That’s him.”
Michael stared at the photograph.
“My father.”
Barbara nodded.
Michael looked almost ill.
“He knew me.”
“Yes.”
“He sat across from me at dinner.”
Barbara reached backward and touched his hand.
“He knew exactly who I was.”
No one spoke for several miles.
Then Michael whispered:
“He told me once that a parent could love a child without having the right to be called their parent.”
Barbara closed her eyes.
Daniel had been saying goodbye without Michael knowing it.
---
They reached Vermont shortly after noon.
The landscape changed gradually.
Dense woods.
Frozen lakes.
Small towns under heavy snow.
Robert’s cottage stood beside a lake as still as glass.
Barbara saw it first through the trees.
A cedar house with green shutters.
Smoke rose from the chimney.
Richard slowed.
Barbara frowned.
“Smoke?”
“No one should be there,” Richard said.
Michael leaned forward.
“Jennifer?”
Barbara’s heart accelerated.
They stopped fifty feet from the cottage.
Fresh tire tracks marked the snow.
One vehicle.
Barbara opened the door.
Michael grabbed her arm.
“Wait.”
She looked at him.
“Someone’s inside.”
“It’s my house.”
“That didn’t stop someone entering mine.”
Richard reached for his phone.
“No signal.”
Michael checked.
“Mine either.”
Barbara stared at the cottage.
Robert had bought this place for her.
Or perhaps he had bought it for secrets.
She walked forward.
Michael followed.
The front door was unlocked.
Barbara pushed it open.
Warm air met them.
Fire in the fireplace.
A cup of coffee on the table.
Someone had been there minutes earlier.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Michael checked the downstairs rooms.
Empty.
Barbara noticed a framed photograph above the fireplace.
Robert.
She approached.
It was not a photograph she had ever seen.
Robert stood beside Margaret Cole.
Behind them was the cottage.
The date was eleven years ago.
Barbara stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Michael looked.
“Dad died fourteen years ago.”
Richard approached.
His face changed.
“This photo was taken three years after his death.”
Barbara’s skin prickled.
“No.”
Michael grabbed the frame.
“Maybe the date is wrong.”
On the back was Margaret’s handwriting.
**Robert’s last visit — October 18.**
Three years after Robert’s funeral.
Barbara looked at Richard.
“You identified his body.”
Richard said nothing.
Barbara’s blood ran cold.
“You identified Robert after the heart attack.”
“Yes.”
“Was it him?”
Richard’s face drained.
“Barbara—”
“Was it my husband?”
Before he could answer, a floorboard creaked upstairs.
Michael looked up.
Someone was there.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
They climbed together.
At the end of the hallway, one door stood partly open.
Michael pushed it.
A woman sat beside the window.
Jennifer.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was loose.
No makeup.
A pistol rested on the table beside her.
Michael froze.
“Jennifer.”
She turned.
For a second, relief crossed her face.
Then fear replaced it.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Michael stared at the gun.
“Why are you here?”
“To find Margaret.”
“Where is she?”
Jennifer shook her head.
“Gone.”
Barbara entered.
Jennifer’s expression hardened automatically.
But something else was underneath.
Shame.
Barbara said, “You knew about Michael.”
Jennifer looked at him.
“Not when we married.”
Michael’s face tightened.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“The bank.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was trying to prove it first.”
“You searched the hospital records.”
“Yes.”
“You searched for Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“You told your mother?”
Jennifer laughed bitterly.
“My mother already knew.”
Michael stepped backward.
“What?”
“She knew from the beginning.”
“Beginning of what?”
“Our marriage.”
Michael stared.
Jennifer’s eyes filled.
“She knew who you were before I married you.”
Barbara felt anger rise.
“Then why allow the marriage?”
Jennifer looked at her.
“Because Thomas wanted it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“No.”
Jennifer wiped her face.
“I expect you to believe that I spent my entire life being told what was true by people who lied better than I did.”
Michael looked at the gun again.
“Why are you armed?”
Jennifer whispered:
“Because someone tried to kill Margaret this morning.”
Barbara froze.
“What?”
“I arrived at her house. The door was open. There was blood.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Police?”
“No signal. I drove here because Margaret left a note saying Robert’s cottage was the safe location.”
Richard entered.
Jennifer saw him.
Her face transformed.
“You.”
She reached for the pistol.
Michael stepped between them.
“Jennifer!”
“Move.”
“No.”
“He knows.”
Richard raised his hands.
“Knows what?”
“What happened to Robert.”
Barbara felt the room tilt again.
“Jennifer.”
Jennifer looked at her.
“My mother told me last night.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That Robert Wilson did not die fourteen years ago.”
Silence.
Barbara could hear the fire crackling downstairs.
Michael whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Jennifer shook her head.
“Thomas arranged the death certificate.”
Barbara stared.
“No.”
“Robert survived the heart attack.”
Richard looked genuinely stunned.
“That’s not possible.”
Jennifer laughed.
“You really didn’t know.”
Barbara turned toward him.
Richard looked shaken.
“I saw him after resuscitation failed.”
Jennifer said, “You saw a body.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see his face?”
Richard stopped.
Barbara remembered the funeral.
Closed casket.
She had been told the damage from prolonged resuscitation made viewing inadvisable.
She had believed them.
Of course she had believed them.
Jennifer continued.
“According to my mother, Robert discovered Thomas planned to have him killed. So he arranged his own death first.”
Barbara could barely stand.
“Where is he?”
Jennifer looked toward the photograph downstairs.
“He lived here for several years.”
“And after that?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael whispered, “Dad is alive?”
Jennifer shook her head.
“I don’t know if he’s alive now.”
Barbara remembered the photograph.
Robert’s last visit.
Eleven years ago.
Her grief suddenly felt like another theft.
Her husband had allowed her to bury an empty life.
Allowed Michael to mourn.
Allowed Barbara to work herself sick.
“Why?” she whispered.
Jennifer looked at her.
“Because Thomas had your biological son.”
Barbara’s heart stopped.
“What?”
“Robert stayed dead because Thomas threatened to kill the boy if Robert resurfaced.”
Barbara gripped the bedpost.
“My son is alive?”
Jennifer nodded.
“At least he was eleven years ago.”
Michael stepped toward her.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not!”
“Then what did Thomas call him?”
Jennifer’s face changed.
Barbara saw it.
“You know.”
Jennifer shook her head.
“Jennifer.”
Barbara approached.
“You excluded me from Christmas because Evan was coming.”
Jennifer began crying.
“That wasn’t my idea.”
“Your mother told you to keep me away.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Evan had started remembering Mercy House.”
Michael stared.
“Evan is my biological brother.”
“Yes.”
“But he isn’t Barbara’s son.”
“No.”
“Then who is?”
Jennifer covered her face.
“I don’t know.”
A noise sounded downstairs.
Everyone froze.
The front door.
Opening.
Then closing.
Michael reached for the pistol.
Jennifer grabbed it first.
“Stay behind me.”
Footsteps crossed the living room.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Barbara moved toward the hallway.
Michael stopped her.
“Mom.”
Then a man’s voice called from downstairs.
“Barb?”
Barbara’s entire body went cold.
She knew that voice.
Not from a phone.
Not from memory.
From thousands of mornings.
Thousands of evenings.
From hospital hallways.
From whispered conversations in bed.
Barbara pushed past Michael.
“Mom!”
She ran downstairs.
A man stood beside the fireplace.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray-haired.
A scar crossed his temple.
But Barbara knew his eyes.
She knew the way he held his shoulders.
She knew him before her mind could accept what she saw.
The world disappeared.
“Robert.”
His face broke.
“Hello, Barb.”
Barbara crossed the room.
Robert opened his arms.
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the cottage.
Robert staggered.
Barbara hit him again.
“You let me bury you!”
“Barbara—”
“You let your son bury you!”
“I know.”
“You watched us grieve?”
“Yes.”
She struck his chest with both fists.
“I loved you!”
Robert caught her wrists.
“I never stopped loving you.”
Barbara tore herself free.
“Don’t you dare.”
Michael appeared on the stairs.
Robert looked up.
Everything changed in his face.
“Michael.”
Michael did not move.
“Dad?”
Robert’s eyes filled.
“My boy.”
Michael came down slowly.
Then stopped several feet away.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“You were alive when I graduated?”
Robert nodded.
“When Lily was born?”
“Yes.”
“When Noah was born?”
“Yes.”
Michael’s face hardened.
“You knew my children existed.”
“I watched from a distance.”
Michael punched him.
Robert fell against the table.
Barbara did not stop him.
Michael stood over his father shaking.
“You don’t get to call me your boy.”
Robert wiped blood from his mouth.
“You’re right.”
Richard appeared.
Robert saw him.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then Richard whispered:
“You son of a bitch.”
Robert almost smiled.
“I missed you too.”
Richard grabbed him and pulled him into an embrace.
Barbara stared.
Anger.
Relief.
Betrayal.
Love.
She hated herself for feeling all of them.
Jennifer came downstairs holding the pistol lowered at her side.
Robert saw her.
His expression became cautious.
“Jennifer.”
“You know me?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everyone knows everyone except the people living the lives.”
Robert looked at Barbara.
“We don’t have much time.”
Barbara’s anger returned.
“No. You have all the time I lost.”
“Thomas knows you’re here.”
“How?”
“Because the cottage has been watched for years.”
Michael stepped forward.
“Then tell us now.”
Robert looked at him.
“You know about the switch?”
“Yes.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Which baby am I?”
Robert looked at Barbara.
Then back at Michael.
“You are Daniel and Diana’s son.”
Michael swallowed.
“And Mom’s biological son?”
Robert’s expression changed.
Barbara felt terror rise.
“Where is he?”
“Alive.”
Barbara stopped breathing.
“Where?”
“I found him seventeen years ago.”
“You found my son seventeen years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he was already inside Thomas Parker’s organization.”
Michael frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Robert looked toward the window.
“He had been raised to believe Thomas saved him.”
“Who is he?” Barbara demanded.
Robert hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“I need you to understand something first.”
“No.”
“