Chapter 6 - Evelyn’s Sister
Her name was Eleanor.
Evelyn’s identical twin.
Julian had never met her.
Never even heard her name.
His grandmother told him Evelyn was an only child.
Another lie.
Eleanor and Evelyn were born into the first generation after Arthur Mercer created his genetic succession program.
Girls did not qualify as heirs.
They were considered irrelevant to the trust.
But Arthur used both sisters in medical research anyway.
Evelyn eventually escaped the family’s control.
Eleanor did not.
“Where is she?”
Evelyn stared at Sophie.
“Apparently close.”
Eleanor worked with Dr. Vale for decades.
Not publicly.
Behind the scenes.
Records specialist.
Custody coordinator.
Genetic database administrator.
The woman who knew which children belonged to which Mercer branches.
And according to Sophie, Eleanor had visited our home pretending to be Julian’s mother.
“Why didn’t I notice?”
Sophie looked guilty.
“You were sleeping.”
I remembered that afternoon.
Pregnancy exhaustion.
Evelyn had supposedly “stopped by” and left soup.
Except I never actually saw her.
I woke later and found the casserole on the counter.
Julian said Mom had visited.
He had been at work.
We both assumed.
Eleanor had entered our home.
Talked to our children.
Possibly accessed my documents.
My missing coat.
My identification.
Then Julian asked:
“What did she tell you?”
Sophie hesitated.
“She asked if Mom knew about the first baby.”
“What first baby?”
Sophie looked toward me.
Then whispered:
“The one before Emma.”
Our fourth daughter was Emma.
Before Emma?
I had suffered a miscarriage.
Or believed I had.
Six years earlier.
Twelve weeks pregnant.
Heavy bleeding.
Dr. Vale handled the follow-up because Evelyn recommended him.
He told us the pregnancy was lost.
We grieved privately.
No funeral.
No remains.
Nothing.
My body went cold.
“Julian…”
He understood.
“No.”
Evelyn was already crying.
I hated her tears.
“What happened to my baby?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer is finished. You know something.”
She admitted finding an old Vale file two weeks earlier.
Pregnancy:
Claire Mercer.
Status:
Transferred.
Not terminated.
My knees weakened.
“Transferred what?”
She didn’t know.
Then Julian realized.
“Embryo?”
Possibly.
If the pregnancy had been manipulated earlier through fertility medication, Vale may have recorded embryo custody differently.
But I had conceived naturally.
Or thought I had.
Records could be falsified.
Nothing made sense.
Then Evelyn pulled out one final page.
Six years ago, exactly seven months after my supposed miscarriage, a male infant was registered in a private Mercer database.
Marker-positive.
Father:
Julian Mercer.
Mother:
Claire Mercer.
I stopped breathing.
“We had a son.”
Julian looked destroyed.
“No.”
“Yes.”
A boy genetically ours had apparently been born six years earlier.
Somebody had taken him.
Then Sophie whispered:
“Grandma Eleanor showed me his picture.”
I turned.
“What does he look like?”
She swallowed.
“Like Dad.”
“And his name?”
Sophie answered:
“Samuel.”
May you like
Our first son had been alive for six years.
And no one had ever told us he existed.
