Chapter 12 - The Daughter Margaret Never Gave Birth To
Claire did not tell Luca immediately.
She stood on the balcony with the phone pressed to her ear, listening to the laboratory director repeat the result.
Margaret was not her biological mother.
The preliminary comparison excluded maternity with near certainty.
The director warned that the sample theft prevented a complete report. A backup fragment remained, but further testing would be necessary.
Claire thanked her and ended the call.
Luca watched her face.
“What happened?”
She could not form the words.
He took the phone from her trembling hand and read the call information.
“Claire.”
“She is not my mother.”
Luca stared.
“What?”
“The test says Margaret is not my biological mother.”
They woke everyone.
Margaret listened without interrupting.
When Claire finished, Margaret sat on the edge of the hotel bed.
“That cannot be true.”
Hélène covered her mouth.
Élodie looked away.
Margaret saw it.
“You knew.”
Élodie remained silent.
“You knew,” Margaret repeated.
“I suspected.”
“Why?”
Élodie looked older than ever.
“Because Julien believed your first child was not the only infant whose identity was changed.”
Margaret struggled to understand.
“I gave birth to Claire.”
“You gave birth in 1997,” Élodie said. “But the infant may not have survived.”
Claire made a small sound.
Margaret turned toward her.
“No. I held you.”
“You held a baby,” Élodie said.
Margaret stood and slapped her.
The sound cracked through the room.
Antoine stepped forward, but Élodie raised a hand.
She did not appear angry.
“I deserved that.”
Margaret’s voice shook.
“Do not speak about my daughter as though she were an object moved between rooms.”
“That is exactly how Étienne treated children.”
Hélène began crying again.
Margaret turned toward her.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing certain.”
“Tell me.”
In 1997, Hélène received a call from Étienne.
He said Margaret had delivered a stillborn daughter at a private clinic.
He also said another infant girl needed a legal identity.
Hélène assumed the child belonged to someone connected to Julien’s evidence network.
She begged Étienne to leave Margaret alone.
Two weeks later, she received a photograph.
Margaret was leaving the clinic with a newborn.
“I told myself your baby had survived,” Hélène said.
“You knew there was a possibility she had not.”
“Yes.”
Claire felt detached from her own body.
“Whose child am I?”
No one answered.
Antoine looked at the preliminary data sent by the laboratory.
“There may be a clue.”
The report showed Claire shared no biological maternal relationship with Margaret.
She also shared no sibling relationship with Luca.
But Claire had a distant genetic connection to Antoine.
Not the level expected for siblings.
Not even half-siblings.
Possibly first cousins.
“Then one of my parents belongs to Julien’s family,” Claire said.
Élodie closed her eyes.
“My daughter.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“You had a daughter?” Margaret asked.
“Isabelle.”
Antoine stared at his grandmother.
“You told me she died as a child.”
“She disappeared at nineteen.”
“When?”
“1996.”
Claire’s birth year.
Élodie’s hands tightened around her cane.
Isabelle Moreau was Julien’s younger sister.
She had been sent to Canada after Julien’s legal troubles endangered the family. In Montreal, she became involved with a man whose identity she never revealed.
She returned to France pregnant.
Then disappeared.
A year later, Étienne sent Élodie a letter claiming Isabelle was dead.
“You believed him?” Margaret asked.
“I believed nothing he said. But I found no trace of her.”
Claire whispered, “You think I am Isabelle’s daughter.”
“It is possible.”
“Who was my father?”
Élodie shook her head.
“I do not know.”
Margaret sat beside Claire.
Claire instinctively moved away.
The movement cut Margaret deeply.
“I am still your mother,” she said.
Claire looked at her with tears in her eyes.
“I know.”
But she did not move closer.
At dawn, they drove to Burlington.
Samuel Reed lived above an old bookshop near the waterfront.
The store appeared closed.
A handwritten sign read Private Collection Only.
Margaret knocked.
No answer.
Luca tried the door.
Unlocked.
Inside, shelves rose from floor to ceiling.
Dust floated in pale morning light.
“Mr. Reed?” Claire called.
A voice came from the back.
“You are six days early.”
An elderly man emerged carrying a pistol.
He looked at Margaret.
Then at Claire.
May you like
His hand began to shake.
“My God,” he whispered. “You have Isabelle’s eyes.”
