Chapter 5 — The Secret in Sophie’s Jacket
Chapter 5 — The Secret in Sophie’s Jacket
The next morning, I found the jacket.
It was hanging behind the kitchen door.
The same denim jacket Preston had used to frame my eight-year-old daughter.
For days, I had been afraid to touch it.
Every time I looked at it, I saw the ballroom.
The blood.
The oak board.
Sophie crying in my arms.
Preston shouting that she was a thief.
But now I understood something.
The jacket wasn't evidence of my daughter's guilt.
It was evidence of someone else's plan.
I picked it up carefully.
The pocket where Preston had planted the phone was still slightly stretched.
I ran my fingers along the lining.
Nothing.
Then I felt something.
A hard edge.
I froze.
I reached inside.
My fingers touched a small piece of plastic.
I pulled it out.
A memory card.
Tiny.
Black.
I stared at it.
“Mommy?”
I turned.
Sophie stood in the doorway.
“What's that?”
“I don't know.”
She came closer.
“Is it important?”
“I think so.”
She looked at the jacket.
“That's the one Uncle Preston used.”
“Yes.”
She frowned.
“I don't like that jacket.”
“Neither do I.”
She touched my arm.
“Can we throw it away?”
I looked at the memory card.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I think someone wanted us to find it.”
Detective Hayes arrived twenty minutes later.
He examined the card without touching it.
“Where did you find this?”
“Inside the lining.”
“Was the jacket searched before?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“The hotel.”
He frowned.
“Then someone hid this after the search.”
My stomach tightened.
“Could Preston have put it there?”
“Possibly.”
“Could Claire?”
“Possibly.”
“Could my mother?”
He looked at me.
“Also possible.”
I hated that answer.
Everyone had become a suspect.
Even the people I had once trusted most.
Hayes placed the memory card into an evidence reader.
The screen remained black.
Then a folder appeared.
Only one file.
SOPHIE_08.
I stared at the name.
“Why would someone name it that?”
Hayes opened it.
A video appeared.
The quality was poor.
The room looked familiar.
I leaned closer.
It was my father's study.
I recognized the shelves.
The desk.
The painting behind the chair.
Then a younger version of my father walked into view.
I stopped breathing.
He was alive.
Healthy.
Smiling.
And sitting across from him was my mother.
They looked much younger.
My mother was holding a small envelope.
My father spoke.
“It's done.”
My mother asked:
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn?”
“She cannot know.”
“Not yet?”
“Not ever, if I can prevent it.”
My blood ran cold.
Hayes looked at me.
The video continued.
My mother opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
She stared at it.
Then whispered:
“She's beautiful.”
My father's expression hardened.
“She isn't ours to keep.”
My heart stopped.
I grabbed the edge of the desk.
“What?”
Hayes paused the video.
I shook my head.
“Play it.”
He did.
My father's voice returned.
“If Blackwell learns who she is, he'll come for her.”
My mother looked terrified.
“And if Evelyn learns?”
“She'll protect her.”
“That's the problem.”
My father's face softened.
“No.”
“David—”
“She is my daughter.”
My mother shook her head.
“Not by blood.”
Silence.
I couldn't breathe.
The video ended.
I stared at the blank screen.
Not by blood.
The words repeated inside my head.
Not by blood.
Not by blood.
Not by blood.
I looked at Hayes.
“No.”
He didn't speak.
“My father was talking about someone else.”
“Perhaps.”
“Someone else named Sophie.”
“Maybe.”
I shook my head.
“There has to be another explanation.”
Hayes remained silent.
Because he knew.
And I knew.
The only reason my father would hide something like this was because it mattered.
My daughter was eight years old.
I had carried her.
I had given birth to her.
I had watched her take her first breath.
How could she not be mine?
Then another thought struck me.
Daniel.
My ex-husband.
Sophie's father.
He had disappeared three years after Sophie's birth.
He had never fought for custody.
He had never demanded answers.
He had simply left.
I had always assumed he was selfish.
But what if he knew?
I called Daniel.
The number was disconnected.
I called again.
Nothing.
I searched through old records.
His last known address was in Seattle.
I stared at the screen.
Hayes looked at me.
“Do you want me to find him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if Sophie isn't biologically related to me…”
I couldn't finish.
Hayes nodded.
“I'll find him.”
My mother arrived that afternoon.
She didn't knock.
She walked into the house with a key.
I watched her remove her coat.
“You're home.”
“Yes.”
She looked upstairs.
“Where's Sophie?”
“Playing.”
My mother nodded.
Then she saw the memory card on the table.
Her face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
“You found it.”
I stared.
“How did you know?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
She sat down.
“Your father should never have left that.”
“What is on it?”
She closed her eyes.
“You weren't supposed to see it.”
“What is on it?”
She whispered:
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
She looked at me.
“Sophie isn't your biological daughter.”
My entire body went numb.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Evelyn…”
“I gave birth to her.”
“Yes.”
“She is my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you saying?”
My mother began crying.
“Your father took her.”
I stared.
“What?”
“From whom?”
She looked away.
“From a woman named Anna.”
“Who is Anna?”
“She was a patient at the hospital where you gave birth.”
I couldn't breathe.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“You were unconscious after the delivery.”
My mother continued.
“There was a complication.”
I remembered.
The emergency room.
The bright lights.
The doctors.
The pain.
Then nothing.
I had been told Sophie was born safely.
I had never questioned it.
My mother whispered:
“Your father arranged the transfer.”
“What transfer?”
“The baby.”
I stared at her.
“You're saying the baby I raised…”
“Is Anna's daughter.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“Because Anna was being hunted.”
“By whom?”
“Blackwell.”
“Why?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because Anna was Blackwell's daughter.”
Silence.
The room seemed to disappear.
I sat down.
“My daughter…”
“Is Blackwell's granddaughter.”
My heart pounded.
“Why would Dad give her to me?”
“Because he knew Blackwell would never look for her inside your family.”
I stared at my mother.
“You let me raise someone else's child?”
“She was your daughter in every way that mattered.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
My mother cried.
“I loved her.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You stole her.”
“Yes.”
“You stole a child from her mother.”
My mother looked broken.
“She was dying.”
“What?”
“Anna was dying.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
I froze.
“Your father believed she had no time.”
“And what happened?”
“She died two weeks later.”
I stared at the floor.
“Then why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because Blackwell was looking for her.”
“And you thought lying to me was safer?”
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You created my entire life around a lie.”
My mother whispered:
“We were trying to protect you.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
My voice was quiet.
“You were protecting yourselves.”
Sophie appeared at the doorway.
“Grandma?”
My mother immediately wiped her tears.
“Sweetheart.”
Sophie looked between us.
“Why is Mommy crying?”
I stood.
“It's okay.”
Sophie walked toward me.
She looked at my mother.
“Did you make Mommy sad?”
My mother couldn't answer.
Sophie came to me.
I wrapped my arms around her.
She whispered:
“Are you still my mommy?”
My heart broke.
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“Even if I'm not…”
She stopped.
She didn't know.
Not yet.
I kissed her hair.
“You are my daughter.”
My mother looked away.
I turned to her.
“Get out.”
“Evelyn…”
“Get out.”
She stood.
“I am sorry.”
“You should be.”
She walked to the door.
Then stopped.
“There is something else.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Anna didn't die.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
My mother turned.
“She disappeared.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
I stepped forward.
“You said she died.”
“We thought she did.”
“Mom.”
“She disappeared from the hospital.”
“When?”
“Six days after giving birth.”
I stared at her.
“Then why did you tell me she was dead?”
“Because Blackwell believed she was.”
“And you?”
“I believed she would never return.”
My mother left.
I stood frozen.
Sophie hugged my waist.
I looked down at her.
My daughter.
My world.
My secret.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Hayes.
“Evelyn.”
“Yes?”
“We found Daniel.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“Portland.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Know what?”
“He knows the truth about Sophie.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm coming.”
Hayes continued.
“There's something you should know first.”
“What?”
“Daniel wasn't Sophie's biological father either.”
I felt the room disappear beneath me.
“What?”
“He told us Sophie was already in your father's custody when Daniel met you.”
I couldn't speak.
“He says your father paid him to marry you.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“He claims your entire marriage was part of the arrangement.”
I looked at Sophie.
The little girl who had called me Mommy since the day she learned to speak.
The child I had protected.
The child I had loved.
The child everyone else had apparently been using as a secret.
Hayes continued.
“And Evelyn…”
“Yes?”
“There is a photograph of Anna.”
“Where?”
“With Daniel.”
“Send it.”
A few seconds later, my phone vibrated.
I opened the photograph.
Daniel stood beside a woman.
She had dark hair.
Pale skin.
Tired eyes.
And a small child in her arms.
Sophie.
But that wasn't what made my blood freeze.
It was the date.
The photograph had been taken eight years ago.
Two months after the hospital had told me Anna was dead.
I stared at the screen.
Then I saw the message beneath the photograph.
ANNA IS ALIVE.
My hands began shaking.
A second message appeared.
AND SHE HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR HER DAUGHTER.
I looked at Sophie.
She was drawing at the table.
She had no idea.
No idea that the woman who gave birth to her might still be alive.
No idea that her grandfather had taken her from another mother.
No idea that the people surrounding her had built an entire life on secrets.
Then another message arrived.
She knows where you live.
I looked toward the window.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
The engine was running.
Someone sat behind the wheel.
I couldn't see the face.
But I knew one thing.
They weren't watching my house.
They were watching Sophie.
And for the first time since the wedding, I realized the phone Preston planted wasn't the most dangerous thing he had put near my daughter.
The real danger had been following her for eight years.
May you like
And now—
it had finally found her.
