For several seconds, nobody moved.
Chapter 2
PART 2 - The Secret Behind Daphne’s Pregnancy
3,076 words
The reception hall had gone so quiet that I could hear the soft hiss of candles burning on the tables.
Wyatt stood beside the pregnancy cake, holding the folded clinic paper in one hand and the handwritten note in the other.
My father stared at him.
Not angry.
Terrified.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Give me that,” Dad said.
Wyatt pulled the paper back.
“No.”
My mother stepped between them so quickly that her chair toppled behind her.
“Wyatt, this is not the place.”
He looked at her as though she had spoken another language.
“Not the place?”
His voice was dangerously calm.
“This is apparently the place where my wife announces she's pregnant in front of a hundred people while another man walks in claiming the baby might be his. I think we've passed the point where etiquette matters.”
Several guests lowered their eyes.
Others didn't bother pretending
not to stare.
Daphne stood frozen near the cake.
She was pale now.
The radiant expectant-mother smile had disappeared.
“Wyatt,” she whispered, “please.”
He ignored her.
His attention remained on the handwritten note.
I could see only pieces of it from where I stood.
A date.
A few lines of hurried handwriting.
And my father's name at the bottom.
Lucas moved closer to me.
“What did you arrange?” he asked softly.
“Brandon,” I whispered. “Only Brandon.”
Lucas's eyes narrowed.
“So you didn't know about this?”
“No.”
And that was the truth.
I had known Brandon possessed proof that Daphne had been seeing him.
I had not known he was bringing anything involving my father.
Brandon, meanwhile, looked almost as surprised as I felt.
That detail did not escape me.
“You knew about the note?” I asked him.
His eyes flicked toward me.
“I knew there was something attached to the
clinic file. I didn't know what it said until this afternoon.”
My father turned on him.
“You had no right.”
Brandon laughed without humor.
“No right? That's an interesting phrase coming from you.”
My mother's face sharpened.
“Stop talking.”
Brandon looked at her.
“Why? Afraid I'll ruin another family celebration?”
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Not the ordinary recognition of two people who had met through Daphne.
Something older.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Mom?”
She didn't look at me.
My father reached for the note again.
Wyatt stepped backward.
“Don't touch me.”
“Son, you don't understand what you're reading.”
“Then explain it.”
Dad glanced around at the guests.
“This is private.”
I almost laughed.
Private.
That word had apparently returned to our family's vocabulary exactly when my father needed it.
Daphne had just announced her pregnancy during my wedding.
Brandon had just accused her of cheating.
Wyatt had discovered
a mysterious note bearing my father's name.
And somehow Dad wanted privacy.
“No,” I said.
Everyone turned toward me.
My father frowned.
“Charlotte.”
“You heard him. Explain it.”
His expression hardened in that familiar way—the look he had used my entire childhood whenever I challenged the version of reality he preferred.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
I looked around the reception.
My wedding cake sat untouched.
Daphne's pregnancy cake had been pushed into the center of the room.
Half my guests were holding phones.
The string quartet had quietly stopped playing.
“I think we've established that my family has difficulty recognizing what does and doesn't concern me.”
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
Dad's jaw tightened.
Daphne suddenly lunged toward Wyatt.
“Give me the paper.”
He stepped away from her.
“No.”
“Wyatt, I'm your wife.”
“Then tell me whose baby you're carrying.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Brandon leaned against the edge of an empty table, watching her.
Daphne looked at him with pure hatred.
“You planned this with Charlotte.”
“I planned to tell your husband the truth,” Brandon replied. “Charlotte planned the timing.”
I expected guilt to hit me.
It didn't.
Maybe because I had spent twenty-eight years swallowing humiliation politely.
Maybe because my sister had smiled while hijacking my wedding.
Maybe because somewhere along the way, consequences stopped looking cruel and started looking overdue.
Daphne's eyes snapped toward me.
“You did this?”
“I gave Brandon an invitation.”
“You invited my ex-boyfriend to my sister's wedding?”
“Our sister,” I corrected.
She stared at me.
Then she laughed.
It was high and brittle.
“You're insane.”
“No. Just tired.”
My mother rushed toward me.
“Charlotte, enough.”
I looked at her.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You didn't say that when Daphne stood up with a pregnancy cake.”
“This is completely different.”
“Of course it is.”
Her face tightened.
“She's pregnant.”
“So pregnancy is diplomatic immunity now?”
Several guests coughed to hide laughter.
Daphne's face turned red.
Mom grabbed my arm.
“Your sister needs support.”
I gently removed her hand.
“She has an entire reception supporting her. Apparently.”
The silence afterward was brutal.
My mother's eyes filled with wounded disbelief, as if I had violated a sacred rule by saying publicly what she had practiced privately for years.
Then Wyatt unfolded the handwritten note.
“I'm reading it.”
Dad moved toward him.
Lucas stepped between them.
“Don't.”
My father stared at my husband.
“This is family business.”
Lucas's expression didn't change.
“Charlotte is my family.”
I will never forget that sentence.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it was simple.
For once, somebody said it without making me earn it.
My father looked at him for several seconds.
Then Wyatt began reading.
The handwriting was faded but legible.
“‘Patient requested confidentiality regarding biological history. Prior records indicate possible hereditary complications associated with paternal line. Do not release without authorization from—’”
He stopped.
Everyone waited.
Wyatt looked up at Dad.
“Why would you be listed as the person authorizing access to Daphne's biological records?”
Daphne turned toward our father.
“What?”
My mother closed her eyes.
That told me everything before a word was spoken.
“No,” I said quietly.
Dad looked at Mom.
“Elaine.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“What is happening?” Daphne demanded.
My mother sat down hard in the nearest chair.
Her lips trembled.
Dad looked older suddenly.
Not by years.
By decades.
“Daphne,” he began.
She stepped backward.
“Don't say my name like that.”
I barely noticed her.
A colder realization was moving through me.
“Biological records,” I said.
My father refused to meet my eyes.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
I walked closer.
“What biological records?”
He rubbed one hand over his face.
My mother whispered, “Charlotte, this isn't about you.”
I laughed.
A small sound.
Almost a gasp.
“You keep saying that.”
Daphne looked between them.
“Why does he have authorization over my medical records?”
My father swallowed.
“Because there were circumstances surrounding your birth.”
Wyatt's face changed.
Brandon straightened.
My mother began crying.
Daphne stared at her.
“What circumstances?”
“Please,” Mom whispered.
Daphne's voice rose.
“What circumstances?”
My father looked around the room.
For the first time that night, I almost pitied him.
Almost.
Then he said it.
“I am not your biological father.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Daphne didn't move.
Neither did I.
Somebody dropped a glass near the bar.
It shattered.
Daphne stared at Dad.
Then at Mom.
Then back at Dad.
“No.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“No,” Daphne repeated.
My father tried to approach her.
She recoiled.
“Don't touch me.”
“Daphne—”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Her face twisted.
“Who?”
Neither parent answered.
She screamed.
“WHO?”
My mother broke.
“His name was Michael.”
The name meant nothing to me.
At first.
Then Brandon went still.
Completely still.
My eyes moved toward him.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
Brandon stared at my mother.
“Michael what?”
She looked at him.
And whatever she saw on his face made the little color remaining in hers disappear.
My father cursed under his breath.
Brandon stepped forward.
“Michael what?”
My mother's lips barely moved.
“Michael Mercer.”
Brandon's face emptied.
I remembered suddenly that Brandon's last name was Mercer.
Everyone who knew him knew that.
Daphne knew it.
Wyatt knew it.
I knew it.
But apparently nobody had expected those two facts to collide in the middle of my wedding reception.
Daphne slowly turned toward Brandon.
“No.”
He stared at my mother.
“My father's name is Michael Mercer.”
Nobody breathed.
My mother whispered, “I know.”
Brandon stumbled backward as though she had struck him.
Daphne made a strangled sound.
“No.”
Brandon's eyes moved toward her.
For once, the bitterness was gone.
There was only horror.
“Your father…”
He couldn't finish.
My father sat down.
My mother cried openly.
And I finally understood the secret.
Twenty-nine years ago, before Daphne was born, my mother had an affair with a man named Michael Mercer.
That affair resulted in a pregnancy.
Daphne.
Years later, without knowing the truth, Daphne began dating Michael Mercer's son.
Brandon.
Her half-brother.
The realization swept across the reception in waves.
Hands flew over mouths.
Guests whispered.
Someone near the back said, “Oh my God.”
Daphne stared at Brandon as though the floor had opened beneath her.
“We—”
“I didn't know,” he said immediately.
She backed away.
“We were together for two years.”
“I didn't know.”
“You slept with me.”
His face twisted.
“You think I would have touched you if I'd known?”
She gagged.
Actually gagged.
Wyatt dropped the note on the table.
For one bizarre moment, the pregnancy cake seemed to glow under the chandelier.
Congratulations on the new baby.
Brandon looked sick.
Then his eyes dropped to Daphne's stomach.
And the horror deepened.
“No.”
Daphne followed his gaze.
“No.”
Wyatt understood at the same moment.
His face turned gray.
“If Brandon is the father…”
Daphne slapped both hands over her stomach.
“Stop.”
Brandon whispered, “Daphne.”
“STOP.”
She screamed so loudly that several guests jumped.
“No one knows who the father is!”
The sentence came out before she could stop it.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Wyatt blinked.
“What?”
Daphne realized what she had said.
Her eyes widened.
“I didn't mean—”
Wyatt laughed.
It was the most broken sound I had ever heard.
“You don't know?”
She reached for him.
He backed away.
“You don't know who the father is?”
“Wyatt, listen to me.”
“How many were there?”
“No.”
“How many?”
She began crying.
Brandon closed his eyes.
My mother whispered her name.
Daphne rounded on her.
“Don't!”
Mom flinched.
“You don't get to comfort me!”
“Sweetheart—”
“Don't call me that!”
Her grief shifted into rage with frightening speed.
“You knew?”
My mother said nothing.
“You knew Brandon was Michael's son?”
“I didn't know at first.”
Brandon opened his eyes.
“At first?”
My mother looked at him.
“After you and Daphne had been dating for several months, I saw your father at a fundraiser. I recognized him.”
Brandon stared at her.
“And you said nothing.”
“I panicked.”
“You let us stay together.”
“I thought it would end.”
Daphne laughed hysterically.
“You thought it would end?”
She shoved a chair out of her way.
“You watched me bring him home for Christmas.”
Mom sobbed.
“I didn't know how to tell you.”
“You watched us talk about moving in together!”
“I was afraid.”
“For who?”
Mom couldn't answer.
Daphne looked at Dad.
“You knew too?”
He nodded once.
She nearly collapsed.
“You both knew.”
Dad said, “We convinced ourselves it wasn't certain.”
Brandon stared at him.
“Wasn't certain?”
“We never had a DNA test.”
“Then why does that clinic document say paternal hereditary history?”
Dad's expression changed.
There it was.
Another secret.
Brandon saw it too.
“So you did know.”
Dad looked away.
My mother whispered, “Daniel.”
“Tell them,” I said.
He glared at me.
I had never seen him look at me with such anger.
And suddenly I knew why.
Because I was no longer cooperating.
For years, our family survived because I absorbed discomfort.
I changed subjects.
I accepted apologies that were never spoken.
I allowed unfairness to become tradition.
But traditions break quickly when one person finally refuses to perform them.
“Tell them,” I repeated.
Dad's shoulders sank.
“Years ago, Michael became ill.”
Brandon's face tightened.
“My father died of cardiomyopathy.”
Dad nodded.
“He contacted Elaine before he died. He wanted Daphne informed because the condition could be hereditary.”
Daphne stared at Mom.
“You knew I might have inherited his heart condition?”
“We had you tested.”
“When?”
“When you were sixteen.”
Daphne frowned.
“I never had a heart test.”
“Yes, you did,” my mother whispered. “You thought it was for sports clearance.”
Daphne's mouth fell open.
Dad said, “The doctor found no immediate issue. But because there was genetic risk, the record remained attached to your file.”
Brandon looked at the clinic receipt.
“And that's why his name appeared.”
Dad nodded.
Wyatt stared at Daphne.
Then at Brandon.
Then at the papers.
“This is insane.”
Nobody disagreed.
He picked up the pregnancy cake knife.
For a split second several people tensed.
Then he calmly placed it farther away from everyone.
“I want a paternity test.”
Daphne shook her head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You can't make me.”
“No,” Wyatt said. “But you can refuse without me.”
Her expression shattered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I'm leaving.”
She grabbed him.
“Wyatt.”
He pulled free.
“You announced this pregnancy at someone else's wedding.”
His voice was quiet.
“You made a spectacle out of it.”
“You stood there smiling while everyone congratulated me for a child that you apparently don't even know is mine.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I love you.”
“You should have remembered that seven weeks ago.”
He turned.
Daphne followed him.
“Please.”
He stopped.
For one second, hope flashed across her face.
Then he removed his wedding ring.
He placed it beside the baby-shoe cake.
“I'll contact an attorney Monday.”
Daphne collapsed into a chair.
My mother rushed toward her.
This time Daphne let her.
Not because she forgave her.
Because she could barely remain upright.
Around us, the reception had dissolved entirely.
Some guests were leaving quietly.
Others stood in clusters whispering.
My cousin was crying.
One of Lucas's uncles had taken refuge at the bar.
The photographer looked as if she had entered another dimension.
Then Brandon approached me.
“You knew she cheated with me,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You didn't know the rest.”
“No.”
He nodded slowly.
“I believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody would voluntarily plan this.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
He almost did too.
Then his expression changed.
“There is something else.”
My exhaustion vanished.
“What?”
He glanced toward my parents.
“When I went through my father's old records today, after I saw your father's name on the clinic document, I found letters.”
My heart sank.
“What kind of letters?”
“From your mother.”
I looked at her across the room.
She was holding Daphne.
“What do they say?”
Brandon hesitated.
“Most are old.”
“Most?”
“One isn't.”
“How recent?”
“Three years ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does it say?”
He looked at me carefully.
“Charlotte, before I show you, I need to ask something.”
“What?”
“Have you ever had a DNA test?”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Has your father?”
My mouth went dry.
“Why?”
Brandon reached inside his jacket.
Another envelope.
Lucas came closer.
“What is it?”
Brandon handed it to me.
Inside was a photocopy of a letter.
My mother's handwriting.
I recognized it instantly.
The date at the top was three years earlier.
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
By the third, the room disappeared around me.
Michael,
I know you asked me never to contact your family again, but after your death there are things I can no longer carry alone. Daniel still believes Daphne was the only child that came from what happened between us. I have never corrected him.
My fingers went numb.
Lucas looked over my shoulder.
He stopped breathing.
I continued.
Charlotte has always resembled you more than Daphne ever did. I saw it when she was a baby. I see it more every year. I convinced myself there was no point reopening the past, especially because Daniel loves her as his own.
I couldn't read anymore.
The paper shook in my hands.
Across the reception, my mother looked up.
Our eyes met.
She saw the letter.
Her face collapsed.
My father noticed.
Then he looked at me.
Then at Brandon.
“No,” Mom whispered.
My voice barely came out.
“Am I his daughter too?”
Dad stood.
“What?”
My mother began shaking her head.
“Charlotte—”
“What is she talking about?” Dad demanded.
I handed him the letter.
He read it.
Once.
Twice.
His face seemed to age with every line.
Then he looked at my mother.
“You told me Daphne was Michael's.”
She cried.
“I thought she was.”
“You told me Charlotte was mine.”
“I thought she was too.”
Dad slammed the paper onto the table.
“You wrote that she isn't!”
“I wrote that I wasn't sure!”
“When were you going to tell me?”
My mother broke into sobs.
I barely heard them.
I was staring at Brandon.
If Michael Mercer was my biological father too…
Brandon was not simply Daphne's half-brother.
He was mine.
And Daphne and I were not just sisters.
Depending on what our mother had done, we might share both biological parents.
Or only one.
I felt dizzy.
Lucas wrapped an arm around my waist.
“Sit down.”
“I don't want to sit down.”
“Charlotte.”
“I said I don't want to sit down.”
The words came sharper than I intended.
He released me immediately but stayed close.
Dad turned toward me.
There were tears in his eyes.
“Charlotte, whatever that letter says—”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did you ever suspect?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than the answer.
“Did you?”
“Once,” he whispered.
“When?”
“When you were little.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
He looked at the floor.
“Because Michael had dark eyes.”
I laughed weakly.
“So do millions of people.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“You had a birthmark.”
My hand moved unconsciously toward my shoulder.
A small crescent-shaped mark near my collarbone.
Brandon's face changed.
He slowly loosened his tie and pulled his collar aside.
On his upper chest was a nearly identical mark.
My legs almost failed me.
Daphne had noticed too.
She stared from his mark to mine.
“No.”
Again that word.
The word of the evening.
No.
No to betrayal.
No to biology.
No to every secret that had been living quietly inside our family while we argued about birthdays and attention and wedding cakes.
Brandon covered the mark again.
“My father had one.”
I looked at Mom.
She could no longer deny anything.
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