Chapter 2: The Name on the Screen
Andre read the message again.
Then he read it a third time.
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn't unlock the phone.
“Who sent that?”” he asked.
I kept my eyes on the table.
“Denise.””
I forced myself to look up.
“I don't know.””
Andre gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You don't know?””
“No.””
“She used your first name.””
“I know.””
“She said you can't keep the secret anymore.””
“I heard you.””
He pushed the phone across the table.
“Then look me in the eye and tell me you don't know who she is.””
I looked at him.
I couldn't.
My silence told him more than any confession could have.
Andre stood.
“Who is she?””
I swallowed.
“You're making this bigger than it is.””
“Then make it smaller.””
He stepped closer.
“Give me one sentence that explains why a stranger is texting me about a secret you're hiding.””
“She isn't a stranger.””
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Andre froze.
“Okay.””
His voice was suddenly very calm.
“So you do know her.””
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
I hesitated.
“Her name is Vanessa.””
“Vanessa what?””
“Vanessa Cole.””
Andre frowned.
The name meant nothing to him.
He picked up the phone again.
“How long have you known her?””
“Fifteen years.””
His eyes snapped to mine.
The kitchen seemed to shrink around us.
“Fifteen?””
I nodded.
“Since before we moved into this house?””
“Yes.””
“Since before Malik started school?””
“Yes.””
He stared at me.
“Why have I never heard of her?””
“Because I didn't want you to.””
That answer landed like a slap.
Andre turned away.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
“What does Vanessa have to do with your paycheck?””
I rubbed my palms against my jeans.
“It's complicated.””
“No.””
He faced me fully.
“What I want is simple.””
His voice cracked slightly.
“Where has your money been going?””
I looked at the folder.
Then at the phone.
Then toward the hallway.
“I can't tell you in here.””
“You have exactly one minute before I wake Malik up and ask him to pack a bag.””
My heart lurched.
“Don't involve him.””
“You involved him fifteen years ago.””
“How?””
“By teaching him that every time he needs something, his father pays.””
I flinched.
Andre continued.
“You built a wall between me and him, Denise. I thought I was carrying more because I was his father.””
“You are his father.””
“And you knew I would never question it.””
I looked down.
He wasn't wrong.
That was the worst part.
I had known.
I had counted on it.
Every month, when my paycheck hit our account, I would move a portion somewhere else before Andre noticed. At first it had been a few hundred dollars. Later, thousands.
But none of it went toward clothes.
Or restaurants.
Or jewelry.
Or some secret addiction.
It went to Vanessa.
And Vanessa sent it somewhere else.
Somewhere I had sworn never to speak about.
Andre pulled out his chair again.
“Sit.””
I sat.
He remained standing.
“Start at the beginning.””
I took a breath.
“Fifteen years ago, I was twenty-nine.””
“I know how old you were.””
“I had just found out I was pregnant.””
Andre's eyebrows drew together.
“That doesn't make sense. We weren't married yet.””
“I know.””
“And Malik was born after we got married.””
“I know.””
He stared at me.
“You were already pregnant before our wedding.””
“Yes.””
He rubbed his jaw.
“That's not the secret.””
“No.””
“Then what is?””
I looked at my hands.
“The day I found out I was pregnant, I got a call from a woman I'd never met.””
“Vanessa.””
“Yes.””
“What did she want?””
“Money.””
Andre's expression hardened.
“Blackmail?””
“Something like that.””
“What did she know?””
I couldn't answer immediately.
The kitchen clock ticked.
One second.
Then another.
Finally, I said, “She knew Malik wasn't the only thing I was pregnant with.””
Andre's face went blank.
“What?””
“I was carrying twins.””
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the air vent cycling on.
Andre sat down slowly.
“Twins?””
“One baby survived.””
He stared at me.
“And the other?””
My throat closed.
I reached for the back of the chair.
“The other baby was born alive.””
Andre whispered, “Denise…”
“I held her.””
His eyes widened.
“You had a daughter?””
I nodded.
“Her name was Amara.””
He leaned back as if the chair had suddenly become unstable beneath him.
“Where is she?””
I couldn't breathe.
“She's alive.””
Andre's mouth parted.
For the first time that morning, he looked afraid.
“You're saying we have a daughter?””
“I said she was born alive.””
“That isn't an answer.””
“I don't know where she is.””
“How do you not know where your own daughter is?””
“Because they took her.””
Andre stood so quickly the chair scraped the tile.
“Who took her?””
I jumped.
“I don't know.””
“You said Vanessa knew.””
“She did.””
“Then she knows.””
“Not everything.””
Andre paced once across the kitchen.
“Start over.””
“I was in the hospital. The delivery was complicated. They told me the second baby had breathing problems.””
He stopped walking.
“And?””
“I was barely conscious. I remember a nurse taking her away.””
“What happened next?””
“They said she died.””
Andre's eyes narrowed.
“But you don't believe that.””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because three days later, Vanessa showed up.””
He stared at me.
“She came to the hospital?””
“Yes.””
“How did she know where you were?””
“I don't know.””
“And what did she say?””
I remembered that day with terrifying clarity.
Rain against the hospital window.
The smell of antiseptic.
My wrists still marked from the IV.
Vanessa sitting beside my bed as though she belonged there.
She had placed a photograph on my blanket.
A photograph of a newborn girl.
Tiny.
Red-faced.
Wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
A white hospital bracelet around her ankle.
I had recognized the birthmark immediately.
“Vanessa told me Amara was alive.””
Andre's voice was barely above a whisper.
“And then?””
“She said someone had arranged for the baby's records to be changed.””
“Who?””
“I asked her.””
“What did she say?””
“That I didn't want to know.””
Andre stared at me.
“That makes no sense.””
“It did to me.””
“No, it doesn't.””
He slammed his palm against the table.
“Who took our daughter?””
“I don't know!””
The shout tore out of me.
We both went silent.
A door creaked upstairs.
Malik.
I lowered my voice.
“After Vanessa showed me the photograph, I begged her to help me.””
“And she did?””
“She said she could get Amara somewhere safe.””
“Where?””
“She wouldn't tell me.””
“You let her take our baby?””
“I didn't let her.””
My eyes burned.
“I didn't have a choice. I had just given birth. I was nineteen minutes away from being put back in surgery. I was told my daughter was dead, and then someone showed me proof that she wasn't.””
Andre's face changed.
“I was there,” he whispered.
“What?””
“The night Malik was born.””
“I know.””
“No.””
His voice cracked.
“I mean I was there when they told us there was only one baby.””
I looked at him.
Andre's eyes were fixed on the floor.
“I remember the doctor.””
He swallowed.
“She told me there had been complications.””
I shook my head.
“She lied.””
“How do you know?””
“Because Vanessa showed me the records.””
“What records?””
“Original birth records.””
He looked up sharply.
“You had them?””
“No.””
“Then who did?””
“Vanessa.””
Andre's expression darkened.
“Where are they now?””
“I don't know.””
“What do you mean you don't know?””
“Vanessa kept everything.””
“Then why were you sending her money?””
“Because she said she was paying for Amara's care.””
Andre stared at me.
“Every month?””
“Yes.””
“How much?””
I hesitated.
He laughed bitterly.
“There it is.””
“Sometimes three thousand.””
“How many years?””
“Fifteen.””
Andre did the math silently.
Then his eyes came up.
“That is over half a million dollars.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
He pointed toward the hallway.
“While I've been paying the mortgage, school, insurance, groceries—while I've been telling our son we can afford what he needs—you have been sending over half a million dollars to a woman who claims to be hiding our daughter?””
“Yes.””
“Did you ever ask for proof?””
“Every year.””
“And?””
“She gave me photographs.””
“Photographs can be fake.””
“I know.””
“Bank records?””
“No.””
“Medical records?””
“No.””
“An address?””
“No.””
Andre's face hardened.
“Then what did you have?””
I reached into the pocket of my robe.
My fingers closed around something cold.
A small silver pendant.
I placed it on the table.
Andre looked at it.
“What is that?””
“It belonged to Amara.””
He picked it up.
There was a tiny letter engraved on the front.
A.
He turned it over.
On the back was a date.
Not the day Malik was born.
The day before.
Andre stared at the pendant.
“Why would a newborn have this?””
“Because Vanessa said it was given to her at the hospital.””
“By whom?””
“I don't know.””
He looked at me.
“You've been lying to me for fifteen years.””
I whispered, “I was trying to protect her.””
“Or protect yourself?””
I couldn't answer.
Andre put the pendant down.
Then his phone vibrated again.
This time it wasn't a text.
It was an incoming call.
The screen showed a number he didn't recognize.
He looked at me.
“Is this Vanessa?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
The phone kept ringing.
Andre answered.
“Hello?””
A woman's voice came through the speaker.
Young.
Shaky.
Terrified.
“Is this Andre Carter?””
His face went pale.
“Yes.””
“My name is Amara.””
He stopped breathing.
The voice continued.
“I think you're my father.””
The line went dead.
Andre slowly lowered the phone.
Neither of us moved.
Then he looked at me.
And the first words out of his mouth weren't angry.
They weren't accusing.
They were broken.
“Denise…”
May you like
He pointed at the silent phone.
“Why does our daughter sound like she's never heard of us?””