Chapter 8
“He knew?”
I whispered.
Mom nodded.
“You told him you were pregnant before his condition got worse.”
Tears blurred my vision.
Ren had never met my father.
But he had planned for her.
Then I noticed another page.
A clause stated:
Any beneficiary found to have financially exploited, coerced, or defrauded the grantor would receive nothing.
Dad had protected himself.
And us.
“What’s on the flash drive?”
I asked.
Mom’s face changed.
“That’s the part I haven’t watched.”
We plugged it into Dad’s old laptop.
There were four audio recordings.
The first was dated six weeks before his death.
Dad’s voice was weak.
Marlo’s was unmistakable.
“I told you I need the money.”
“You already took money.”
“You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you fifty thousand dollars.”
“You owe me a lot more than that.”
A chair scraped.
Dad coughed.
Then he said something strange.
“Marlo, finding out the truth doesn’t erase forty-one years.”
Silence.
“What truth?”
I whispered.
Mom turned pale.
The recording continued.
Marlo’s voice cracked.
“You lied to me my entire life.”
Dad replied softly.
“We loved you your entire life.”
My mother suddenly reached for the laptop.
“Turn it off.”
I stared at her.
“Mom?”
“Turn it off.”
“Why?”
She stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
“I said turn it off.”
And suddenly I understood.
Mom knew.
“Who is Marlo?”
Her face collapsed.
I had never seen my mother look so old.
She sank back into her chair.
For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.
Then she whispered:
“Your sister.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Mom covered her face.
“When I was twenty-three, your father’s younger sister had a baby.”
I waited.
“Her name was Caroline.”
I vaguely remembered seeing the name in family albums.
“She struggled,” Mom continued.
“Drugs.
Men.
She disappeared for weeks at a time.
When Marlo was eight months old, Caroline left her with us.”
“And?”
“She never came back.”
My skin prickled.
“Dad adopted Marlo?”
“We both did.”
I stared at her.
“Marlo isn’t Dad’s biological daughter?”
Mom shook her head.
“She isn’t mine either.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Marlo was technically our cousin.
But Dad and Mom had raised her from infancy.
“She didn’t know?”
“No.”
“When did she find out?”
“Apparently while your father was sick.”
We played the second recording.
Marlo was crying.
“You should have told me.”
Dad replied, “Maybe we should have.
But there was never a day you weren’t my daughter.”